Genesis
by Captain Tomate
Summary: What had they done to deserve all this? Sure, they were born different. They had abilities that no one else did. But, surely, they didn't have to suffer because of who they were... Well, they guessed that power did have to come with a price... [Mutant AU]
1. How It Began

**A/N: So, I made a Mutant!AU...Sue me.**

 **This is just an introduction to the plot. An arc establishing a basic layout of each of the main characters and their abilities will be next!**

* * *

 _December 21, 2013_

 _Unspecified location somewhere in the country of Russia_

A assassin is only as good as his or her weapon. And, going by that logic, Natalia would be up with the greats.

Her dagger's blade was sharp, and she had spent a great deal of time making it so. It was a fine weapon, intricately crafted from fine silver in a spiral, which made the blade impossible to extract without causing more injury. She was very proud of the weapon, as well as how pretty it was. Though, prettiness was not necessary: Her victims had no time to admire it before they met their untimely demise.

Still, it made her feel more...ladylike, in a way. Sophisticated.

Natalia traced her one of her dagger's specially designed curves, feeling satisfied with how clean and smooth it was. Not a rough edge anywhere to be found. An impressive feat, considering how often it was used by the Belarusian girl.

"There you are, Natalia!" Came the gentle voice of her older sister, Yekaterina. Soft footsteps crunched in the snow, alerting the younger girl of her sister's approach. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Natalia turned, looking at her sister with bored, half-lidded eyes as she easily put her prized weapon into its holder. "Yes, _sestra?_ " She said, furrowing her brows at the sight of her sister's distressed expression. Yekaterina had always been a worrier, always going into a full-blown panic if Natalia or their brother, Ivan, so much as sneezed, but this worry...it was different. There was more stress in the Ukrainian's face, more fear in her eyes.

Something was wrong. And Natalia had an inkling of what it was.

"The bastards are back at it?" She growled, eerily soft and calm for the anger bubbling in her stomach, hand brushing over the leather incasing her dagger. _Those men_ could never leave them alone, could they?

Flinching slightly at the hostile tone of her sibling, (she could never get used to the cusses that Natalia said so easily) Yekaterina nodded. "General Winter said they had just entered town a week ago and that his men had only been able to sense them now. They're getting better at hiding themselves." The report was almost automated, so different from the usual, annoying bubbliness of Yekaterina's voice.

"Let me guess: The General is moving us, against our wills, again?"

"I know that you don't like it, but it's for our own good, Natalia." Yekaterina's eyes shifted away, focused on the snow that had piled on the ground overnight. She knew that she spewed lies, but she wanted to keep a grip onto the jaded curtain the General had kept her "safe" behind for years. "He only wants us to have chance at living normally..."

Natalia resisted the urge to spit on her sister's ugly, worn work boots. " _Living normally?_ " She sniffed, finally allowing herself to grab her dagger and twist it out of its unique holder. Oh, how she _loathed_ the man who called himself 'General Winter.' "Does moving across continents every other half century count as 'living normally' to you, sister?"

There was no chance for Yekaterina to reply to the bitter question before Natalia turned on her heel and stormed away, barely sinking into the snow and disappearing into the fog like a silver-haired ghost. Yekaterina's frown deepened as she willed her normal tears away from her eyes. Why must Natalia be such a bitter girl? Yes, the General toted them around like puppets on invisible strings, but he had provided them with good clothes, food, shelter.

Safety. He had given them a chance to be safe.

The Ukrainian's hands found their way to the locket around Yekaterina's neck. She didn't have to look at it to refresh her memory of the design on it anymore. It was a simple six-pointed snowflake that was back dropped by a dark blue sky and surrounded by silver ribbons. Yekaterina's calloused fingers found their way to the dents on the metal, tracing the damaged areas without little thought to what she was doing.

She had no idea how long she had been standing there, before someone dropped down beside her. Their loud landing told her that it wasn't Natalia, but Ivan. Yekaterina's taller brother wrapped her bare hands in his larger, gloved ones, encapsulating both them and the locket in thawing warmth.

"She did not react well, da?" Ivan asked in his childish voice, his regular smile growing sad. Despite Natalia being a bit creepy to him sometimes, mostly when she needed comfort, Ivan loved his little sister more than any money that the General could provide them with. Really, he loved both of his sisters that much, but they couldn't extract themselves from the General now.

They were in too deep.

Ivan wrapped his arms around his sister, allowing her to bury her frozen face into his thick winter coat. "Let's go have dinner." He suggested after a minute, pulling Yekaterina away from him. "Natalia will come around soon enough. She always does."

Yekaterina nodded, mutely, and allowed herself to be led back to the small hut all three of them shared by the arm. _I really hope so..._

* * *

Natalia had no idea where she was going. All she knew was that she was _trying_ to get back to her "home." The snow falling from the sky certainly wasn't making her attempt any easier. Usually, she was able to walk across snow with the ease of a gymnast, but that was only for short strolls to the nearby market or out to her special place under an old evergreen tree where she usually cleared her head.

Wherever she was walking, it was much farther than those two places.

"Shit..." Natalia hissed, tugging her foot out from a particularly thick mound of snow. Damn it, those were her favorite shoes and they would, undoubtedly, be soaked once the snow which had gotten inside of them unthawed. As if that weren't enough, Natalia's stomach let out a very ugly, very _loud_ growl.

Well, this was just _great._

The Belarusian let out a snarl from her mouth, frustrated at both herself and Mother Nature. As she stopped moving, squinting through the cloudy air (which signaled an approaching snowstorm) Natalia finally started to feel the aftereffects of her little tantrum. Her thighs burned and her heart was going faster than usual; her pretty, pale pink lips were chapped and she could taste tiny drops of blood already dripping from them; and her silver hair was matted with snowflakes.

Muttering every cuss word she knew (both in English and Russian, mixed in with the few odd Ukrainian mumbles) Natalia started to rub her left thigh. The muscles were already contracting in them, making her grow stiff and sore. Clicking her tongue, (inside of her mouth, she didn't want to have snowflakes stuck to her tongue) Natalia began to awkwardly ease herself to the ground, hissing as cold water seeped into her dress.

 _Great job, Natalia._ She sarcastically thought to herself, pulling her shawl closer around her body. _You win the stupidest person ever award!_

The platinum-blonde girl could already feel her hair being covered by a thick sheet of snowflakes. An involuntary shudder ran through her, shaking her to the core. Black, fuzzy cotton decorated the edges of her vision. Damn it. She felt something warm and wet slip down her cheek, leaving a trail of leftover liquid that froze on her pale skin. It took her a second to realize that she was crying.

Natalia didn't cry. She had _never_ cried. But, sitting in the snow and slowly being entombed in it, she felt helpless. She couldn't fight the snow with her dagger, it would be foolish to even try, and that made her weak.

An assassin is only as useful as his or her weapon. And, going by that logic, Natalia was pointless.

* * *

:

* * *

"Hey! Don't cry!"

Something warm brushed across one of Natalia's cheeks, the heat radiating from it forcing her to wake up. Everything ached and her vision was blurred, but she could make out the form of someone sitting in front of her. Whoever it was, it definitely _w_ _asn't_ Ivan or Yekaterina. As her vision cleared up some more, Natalia could make out more of the stranger's features.

It was a teenager around Natalia's own age. He had skin with a slight tan to it, something that made Natalia know for sure that he wasn't a local, and messy brown hair with a flyaway curl coming from it. He wore something that made Natalia think of a prisoner's uniform, but in all white instead of the regular neon orange; a rectangular badge that was attached to the fabric on the left of his upper chest didn't reveal his name, oddly, but a number: 81545.

Well, at least she knew she wasn't dead; Natalia didn't think that angels would have numbers on their clothes.

She blinked at him, before her eyes traveled around him. Her jaw almost dropped at what she saw. A fully-developed snowstorm raged around them, but it separated like the Red Sea and brushed past their area, like they were in a glass dome.

"How...how are you doing that?" Natalia found herself whispering, voice unnaturally awed. She had never seen anything like this. It certainly wasn't natural...

Maybe she _was_ in Heaven. Or a ghost, at least.

The boy returned her curious blink, looking behind him. He chuckled as he realized what she meant. He backed up from her (she hadn't even realized that he was so close until he drew back) and sat on his knees. "I'm Yong Soo." Was all he said, giving her no explanation to their casing as he offered her a hand to shake. "And you are Miss..."

"Natalia...Just call me Natalia." She found herself replying. His hand was solid in her own, giving her a firm handshake that made any of her silly paranormal notions fly out the window. Although her rational mind demanded answers, the only thing she could do afterwards was stare at him. Yong Soo just grinned at her as she watched him critically, his brown eyes glittering with a mischievous joy.

Suddenly, after a minute-long staring contest, Yong Soo's smile dropped. He seemed to almost...flicker, all of the pigment in his body draining and leaving him an array of different shades of black and white. It was like he was an image on an old television. Natalia stared at him, shuffling away from the boy a bit as Yong Soo gasped in pain.

She frowned, furrowing her brows as she watched the boy. _What the hell...?_

Yong Soo stared back at her, his face whiter than the melting snow they sat on and his now dark grey eyes turning into pinpricks. " _I can't..._ " His voice had become an odd echo, sounding like he was somewhere else but with Natalia all at the same time. " _Can't...can't...ca..._ " He was struggling, gasping out the words as his face contorted in some kind of phantom-caused pain.

Natalia felt wind and sharp pieces of hail whip across her face again as Yong Soo began to tremble, the invisible shield that had been cloaking them seemingly affected by whatever was harming the once-brunette teen. More and more wind surrounded them, filling their area with painful shards of ice. Natalia hissed as she felt some of them cut into her pale flesh and watched as they did the same to her companion. Even his blood had become monochrome, glinting a shade of bright silver that reminded the Belarusian of her precious dagger.

Yong Soo suddenly let out a loud screech, an animalistic sound of pain that came from some deep recess of the teenager, his body flooding with flashing streaks color as he stared at up the sky with huge eyes that resembled dinner platters. Natalia felt the wind disappear again, watching with wonder as a thick, grey wall materialized around them.

So, this had been what was protecting them.

The blonde girl watched as Yong Soo's head lolled to his chest, wide eyes falling closed. A bright red splotch had appeared in the center of his once crisp uniform, followed by the familiar scent of blood. Natalia frowned, slowly reaching over to tilt Yong Soo's head up. How had he gotten injured? What even _was_ that display? There were so many things to ask Yong Soo that Natalia had no idea where to begin once he came back to the waking world...

Before her fingers even touched his skin, Yong Soo grasped her wrist in an iron grip.

" _Natalia Alovskaya. Youngest member of General Winter's Northern Terrors._ " He recited, like he was reading a book. His voice was still echoing, but in a...stranger way. More emotionless. " _Accidental daughter of a slut and a businessman looking for a good time. Left out in the cold of a Belarusian winter when she was just five. Taken in as the adoptive younger sister of Yekaterina Braginskaya and Ivan Braginski at six. Forced into the General's care just a month afterwards. Hates the man with a burning passion. Wants freedom from his puppetry._ " Yong Soo's head tilted upwards, reveal blank, completely grey eyes.

" _Wants to kill the man and woman who made her so she can get revenge for the shitty life they left her with..._ " Yong Soo's voice faded, the grey draining from the whites of his eyes and leaving monotone circles for his pupils. He slumped forward, falling into the Belarusian's lower chest, leaving Natalia stunned and without any form of communication as the wind whistled outside of their shelter.

How...had he known all that? _What the hell was he?_

Yong Soo's formed flickered again, but the color didn't drain like it had originally. The male teenager's form seemed to dissipate in Natalia's grip, before it finally disappeared all together, leaving the Belarusian holding onto nothing.

"What the hell..." Was all she could mutter into the silence of the solidified force field. Really, it had all happened so quickly that, without the grey wall surrounding her, she would have thought it was all just a dream...

* * *

 _December 21, 2013_

 _Location Unknown_

"Subject 81545 is contained and stabilized, sir."

"Good. It seems that the boy's powers are stronger than we originally thought; we'll have to work with that. Now, I want you to get 81545 cleaned up and then bring in Subject 90245 for testing. Also, tell our newest client about the Terrors' location; he'll pay us big money for it."

"Sir, yes sir!"

* * *

 **Powers:**

 **Natalia Alovskaya - N/A**

 **Yekaterina Braginskaya - N/A**

 **Ivan Braginski - N/A**

 **Yong Soo - Force field generation, omnipresence, psychometry**


	2. Intro Arc: Lovino & Feliciano Vargas

**|A/N| And it begins. This chapter has gone through so many different changes that it's not funny, but I _finally_ wrote it in a way that I like.**

 **In other news, I am finally on break for the summer. As a result, I will have more time to write and I will try to keep my updates on track, so expect a regular output of content!**

 **M'kay, enough of my pointless chatter. Enjoy!**

* * *

 _January 31, 2016  
_

 _Florence, Italy_

"Hey, brat, you got a visitor."

Lovino sat up on the ratty old cot, using his elbows as crutches to keep him from falling backwards. Feliciano smiled at him from beyond the metal bars keeping them apart, giving his older brother a little wave in greeting before turning to the officer who stood behind him. "Can my brother and I get some alone time, please?" Feliciano asked, sweetly, giving the guard a closed-eyed smile.

The guard rolled his eyes, turning away and making a show of patting the gun on his hip. "Alright, but no funny business. Or this baby is the last thing you both see." With that one threat left hanging in the air, the guard left.

Feliciano opened his eyes and turned his attention back to his older brother as soon as the guard disappeared. His smile had melted away, a sure sign that he was going to go into his rare "lecture" mode. "You _can't_ keep doing this, Lovi." Feliciano began, ignoring the eye roll Lovino gave him in response. "The first few times I understood it. We were both grieving then. But, now? Lovino, _N_ _onno_ died two years ago; there's no need for doing this anymore. _Give that research up_."

The younger Italian brother putting on a strict face was a rare occurrence, but Lovino had been seeing it more and more often; he really didn't care anymore. Standing up from the cot, Lovino walked over to his brother and grabbed the rusty bars separating them, drawing himself upwards so that he could have a slight advantage over his (taller) younger brother. "This isn't just _mourning_ anymore, Feliciano," He huffed, removing a hand from the bar and running it through his hair, no doubt staining the strands with the red rust coating the palm, " _Nonno_ was onto something extraordinary for genetics. Revolutionary for the _world_."

Lovino released the bars completely, pushing backwards and starting to pace the length of his cell afterwards. "It's stupid, but his research...It's exciting to me. I know I acted like I hated him most of the time, but...Ugh." Lovino stomped his foot like an agitated horse, feeling frustration bubble up in his chest. Why couldn't he say why this research was _important?_ "Dammit. I can't explain. But, Feliciano, Grandpa's research...There might be people like Angelo out there. Hidden, but they're _out there_."

Hazel eyes didn't even look up when Lovino heard Feliciano's breath hitch at the mention of the third Vargas brother. They hadn't brought him up for quite a long time, but the name was still so painful to mention it was almost taboo. Angelo Vargas: The third brother. The forgotten brother. The _special_ brother, who was somehow able to survive being held underwater for far too long by a stray fishing net because he could _breathe water_.

Romulus, the grandfather of the three boys, had been studying the group of people he gave to the moniker of "Peculiars" for years after that horrible beachside incident. He had studied them even after their family's very own Peculiar died in a car crash with the three brothers' parents. The old man had left behind both a large sum of money and decades worth of research to the two remaining Vargases; Feliciano got the money, while Lovino settled for the research papers.

(Really, Lovino was the only brother who truly showed an interest in the field of genetic studies anyway.)

What was within the binders and files and accordion folders, however, was richer than money could ever be: The autobiography of a Seychellois girl who could control water; Information regarding a Polish boy who could douse himself in flames; Evidence of a young Australian man who could morph into the form of any animal. Every single paper contained evidence of people with amazing abilities.

If _so many of the missing links_ were contained in just one thin manila folder, who knew what else Lovino could uncover, given enough time?

Though, all he was able to add to the preexisting research was the definite conclusion that these Peculiarities (the name that Romulus' notes had oh so originally called them) were certainly genetic; just like hair and eye color, maybe even being decided like gender. This game of chance was so unpredictable; like the lottery. Lovino knew that the chance of being born a peculiar individual was only 25%; one out of three places on a Punnett Square chart. And that was just _generalizing_ the chances.

Lovino looked up again, stilling his footsteps and reaching through the bars to grasp his younger brother's shoulders in slightly shaky hands. He had been unsteady all day, ever since he had been caught breaking into a nearby genetics lab. "All of this is crazy, I agree, but I'm in too f-cking deep to stop now, _fratello_ , just like Grandpa was. I don't just want answers, anymore. I _need_ answers."

Feliciano looked at his brother, feeling the elder's hands shaking even more as they gripped onto his shoulders tighter. Just like how Feliciano was rarely stern, Lovino seldom got excited for things; especially not things dealing with their Grandfather. Or their family, outside of Feliciano and Angelo, in general.

The younger boy shook his head, the signature Vargas curl that stuck out from the left of his hair bobbing. "I asked Officer van Dike to clear the charges. Again. He did it, but said that another 'accident' like this..." Feliciano bit his lip, looking away. "They were going to lock you away in a padded cell and throw away the key." The words were fast, spit out and blurring together, but Lovino could make it out.

Giving a empty chuckle, from both the subject change and what said change was about, Lovino dropped his hands. "Of course. They think I'm crazy."

"You have to admit, Lovi, saying that your reason for breaking into a heavily guarded lab is to find out more information on _'superhuman powers'_ does sound a little insane."

"When you say it like _that_ , yeah it f-cking does."

Feliciano chuckled at the bitter tone leeching into his older brother's voice, grabbing the keys that Willem had given him out of his pocket and putting them into the lock of his brother's cell. The door swung open easily with a creak of rusty metal. Feliciano hugged his brother, feeling Lovino stiffen at his touch. He pulled away after a second, eyes closed again and smile back on his face, "Let's just go home, Lovi. We won't worry about it anymore. I made pasta for dinner!"

* * *

Lovino and Feliciano lived in the mansion which had once belonged to their grandfather. It was big, very big for housing only two people, but it was...cozy, somewhat. Romulus had given the boys their own collections of rooms when they were younger (something their parents had always complained about, stating that the old man was spoiling the boys) but, now that they were older, Feliciano occupied the whole first floor while Lovino made his home in the second.

The main reason for that specific arrangement was Romulus' (now Lovino's) study. Well, stud _ies_. Feliciano would have preferred the top floor, where both the sunrises and sunsets were best for painting, but the old man had too much valuable stuff housed in too many of the rooms; it would be difficult to move it all. One of the things that really _couldn't_ be moved was a very large world map.

It covered a wall of one of the rooms fully, held onto the surface by both thick tape and numerous multicolored pushpins. Every color was for different types of, supposed, powers: Blue for abilities involving flight or levitation; Green for elemental powers; Pink for psychic-based abilities. The list went on, spanning almost every color of the rainbow and then some.

Lovino had added a few push pins to the map, as well as a new color: Black, meant for abilities involving something that corrupted either the Peculiar using them or another person. The only black marker was currently planted on the dot reading _Macau_ in China. That was the only Peculiar that Lovino had been able to place, for certain, so far.

Feliciano walked into Lovino's study, holding a platter of steaming pasta noodles lathered in rich homemade sauce and a side of garlic bread in one hand while he watched Lovino trace the rainbow of thin, crisscrossing cords which linked certain types of powers to each other. One pin in Iceland was connected to another in Norway, while Sweden and Denmark were also linked. Hong Kong connected to Estonia. A pin in the East of Germany trailed into China. A spider web of radiant colors spanned to globe.

"What does that yellow cord mean?" Feliciano asked, his sweet voice genuinely curious, as he pointed to the one newly added line that connected England to France.

Lovino turned away from the large board, looking at his brother for a moment before walking over to his desk. It was cluttered and messy, with so many papers piled onto it that the wooden top was not even visible anymore, but the older Italian brother found what he needed with ease. Lovino held up a manila folder with a strip of tape across the label in the same shade of yellow as the cord.

"Grandpa's notes say that there are two Peculiars," He flipped open the folder, pointing at a certain picture when he finally found it, "that always work together." Feliciano looked over Lovino's shoulder, opening his eyes to see the picture fully. It was a collage, with all of the pictures being held in an arrangement by a page protector, featuring two men; one with short, messy hair and very bushy eyebrows, while the other had long, kempt hair and a healthy amount of stubble on his chin.

What was most interesting about the collage, other than every picture depicting the same two men, was the pictures themselves: They went from black and white to sepia to colored, going downwards from what was the oldest picture to the newest.

Even more fascinating was the fact that it didn't look like the men had used a filter at all. Every picture looked the age its coloration suggested it was.

"I don't know if it's reincarnation or immortality," Lovino continued, bringing his brother's attention back to him. He furrowed his eyebrows and gazed at the latest picture of the men, depicting them standing outside of a very pristine, Oriental-looking house. It looked to be taken just months ago. "But these two have been around for a long, long time."

* * *

 ** _Powers:_**

 ** _Angelo Vargas - Water-breathing_**

 ** _Feliciano Vargas - ? ? ?_**

 ** _Lovino Vargas - ? ? ?_**


	3. Intro Arc: Antonio Fernández-Carriedo

**|A/N| Greetings and salutations, my beautiful people! (Kudos if you get that reference.)**

 **Another chapter, another character! There are still a few of our loveable dorks to get through before we get to the nitty-gritty of the plot. I'm so excited!**

 **Okay, with all that out of the way, I hope you all enjoy.**

* * *

 _February 8, 2016_

 _Santander, Spain_

"I'm telling you, Armando; the flowers spoke to me! They actually _spoke to me_ last night."

Armando sighed, tightening his ponytail before lifting up a heavy box of tree saplings. "Is that so?" He grunted through gritted teeth, lifting the box up to his upper chest and dropping the it onto the countertop with a sigh. Damn, it was heavy. He leaned against the marble, putting a cheek on the palm of his hand, and tilted his head so he looked at his little brother, Antonio, in boredom. "Alright, then, I'll bite. What did they 'say' to you?"

Antonio's grin doubled, becoming so bright that Armando sarcastically wondered if he would need some sunglasses. "They told me about...about..." Antonio's smile fell in a matter of seconds, replaced by a look of an elderly man trying to bring up a fifty year old memory. "They told me _something._ I don't remember what it was exactly, but that's not the point, Armando!"

After a few minutes of waiting for some kind of "destiny" rant, Armando rolled his eyes when none came. "Listen, Antonio," he started, picking up one of the smallest saplings from the crate and scanning it, "Carnival was last night; everyone—including both of us, may I mention—was drunk out of their minds. The flowers didn't speak to you, you just had one too many beers, _sí?_ "

"But it wasn't just last night!" Antonio exclaimed, sliding off of the counter and redoing the straps on his green apron. "When I'm in the greenhouse—When I'm in _here_ even. The plants, they tell me things, Armando!" The older brother opened his mouth, but Antonio cut him off. "I _know_ it sounds like I'm crazy, but it's the truth! Remember the time that I caught that one guy stealing from the cash box when our register was broken?"

Armando nodded, "I don't see how that has to do with anything, though."

"Well, _I_ wasn't the one to see it. It was the plants, Armando, it was the plants that told me about it!"

Another sigh left Armando as he finished up scanning the last of the saplings in the wooden crate. "Antonio, you know I love you, right?" As soon as Antonio nodded in confirmation, Armando continued, leaning his back against the counter after he turned to face his younger sibling completely. "So, because you know that, you know that I don't mean to hurt you when I say that what you're saying could land you in a _institución mental._ " Armando tapped his head, as if to (albeit vaguely) indicate someone going insane.

"I'm not crazy!" Antonio huffed, following his brother as the older boy grabbed the now-empty crate again and hoisted it into his grasp, walking to the backroom of their parent's old florist's shop. As soon as he placed the collection of saplings with the other boxes like it, Armando turned around and frowned at Antonio as he replied. "And I never said you were. All I'm saying is that you were probably drunk when the flowers 'spoke' to you. Either that, or there really _is_ something messed-up going on inside that head of yours."

When Armando made a move to brush past him, Antonio grabbed his brother's wrist. "It's not just them speaking to me, Armando. I...I _feel_ them; I feel it when we trim their leaves, when we accidently leave them out for bugs, when we let them dry out! Armando, it hurts...I feel that pain they have." At the sight of his brother's skeptical face, Antonio felt like crying. "Please, just believe me. For once."

"Well..." Armando swallowed, growing worried at his brother's genuine sad face (did he actually believe some non-sentient _flowers_ talked to him?) before jerking his arm back so suddenly that it slipped right through Antonio's fingers. "We'll talk about this later, _hermano pequeño_ _._ I can't have a hangover and deal with this shit all at the same time."

* * *

The tension between the two brothers was palpable, filling the normally cheery coffee shop with a smoky form of dread. Armando raised his coffee mug to his lips, gazing at his brother through the thin tendrils of translucent steam coming from the white ceramic. Antonio was staring at the fern sitting just outside of the window, his green eyes narrowed as if he were willing the plant to do something.

Nothing happened. The leaf didn't even twitch.

"So," Armando began after he set his mug back down, the clinking sound of ceramic against wood catching Antonio's attention before his brother's voice did. "Talking plants, hm?"

Biting his lip and playing with his hands, Antonio finally nodded, "Yeah." He sighed, sliding down in his seat like he was trying to hide from how silly Armando's wording was. "I know it sounds insane, but...It's the truth! So what if I was drunk during Carnival? That wasn't the first time it happened. I heard them in the shop!"

There was no reply from Armando, cloaking them in a silence that _forced_ Antonio to think.

He knew that his first experience was real, for sure; he remembered every detail of it—from the fact that the plant had been a large carnation patch to that he had been trimming its overgrown leaves and removing a few of the prettier flowers for a large-scale afterschool party. What had happened had been the oddest thing: He had just been snipping some brilliant red flowers from the bush when it started to feel like the shears were cutting into _him._

The pain had been so sudden, he had dropped the shears into the carnations; effectively crushing most of the healthy ones and causing more pain to bloom across his skin.

He hadn't picked up a gardening tool (with the potential to harm, at least) after that.

Explaining why he didn't want to prune or prep their plants anymore had been slightly difficult, but Antonio was able to accomplish it with relative ease; Armando just cut his paycheck a little and left everything regarding the _why_ of the situation alone. No need to tell his brother that when the plants felt pain, he felt it to. At the moment.

Now, though? Why was he finally admitting _now?_

Really, Antonio didn't know the exact reason himself, but he knew the gist of it. Antonio knew was that it was like he was going to burst if he didn't explain, if he didn't admit to what he could experience, as the "ability" he possessed developed and mutated. How it went from feeling the plant's pain to being able to almost _hear_ them whisper some sort of other language to him, until he could finally understand the whispers as more time passed.

It was frightening, Antonio decided, it was frightening and he needed someone to confide in.

"Listen," Antonio finally said, pushing away from their table with a screech of his chair. The brunette put both hands onto the table, fingers splayed out and his usually smiling mouth set into a firm, determined line. "I'll prove this to you! I'll show you that _I'm not crazy._ "

With that final statement, Antonio grabbed his dirt-brown jacket from the back of his chair, flinging it over his shoulders as he ran out of the coffee shop; leaving Armando sitting alone with their bill and an untouched cup full of coffee sitting on the table.

Armando sighed after a second (he was sighing a lot today, wasn't he?) slamming a fist on the tabletop as he growled, "Damn it." Standing up and grabbing his own coat, the Portuguese man threw some money on the wooden surface and stomped out, purposefully ignoring the slight whistling of wind coming from outside of the window.

* * *

" _Come on, Antonio, focus...focus..._ "

Antonio scrunched up his nose in concentration, glaring at the same rosebush that he had been focusing on for the last half hour, trying to hear something. _Anything_. He sat amongst numerous other plants in the storage room of the _Armada_ flower shop, having been there ever since he ran out of the coffee shop he and Armando had been in. Antonio would show his brother. He wasn't crazy...

There was nothing.

None of the plants were whispering to him. _Why the hell weren't they whispering to him?!_

The Spaniard suddenly felt like screaming, an angry frustration engulfing him like flames. He didn't even know where the sudden burst of emotion appeared from; all he could fathom was that it just _appeared._ His head began to spin, a dull haze filling his thoughts. It felt doubtful, but he couldn't be completely positive of the emotion.

 _He wasn't crazy...he wasn't..._

Everything felt like it was shaking, unsteady, like an earthquake. He found that he couldn't see. Everything was black...Was he screaming? Or was that someone else? Both, maybe?

"Antonio!" A harsh slap to the face brought him back to reality, dragging him from the dark and making him gasp at the suddenness of it. He felt Armando shaking him, heard him yelling and cussing at Antonio with the most worried look on his face. Why was he so worried? When did he even _get there?_ "What the actual f-ck are you doing?!"

Another source of pain tingled at his hand, slowly bringing Antonio's gaze to the rosebush as the odd burning sensation increased. He could only make out a little bit, but he understood enough: Red coated the thorns of one rose, rivulets of the same slippery substance making their way down the flower's stem and his hand dribbling blood onto the concrete floor, forming a worryingly large puddle. He had...grabbed the rose? He didn't remember doing that...Everything felt...fuzzy...He couldn't think...

Armando uncurled Antonio's already limp grasp from the rose's stem, gazing with horror at how deep the thorns had gotten into the younger brother's flesh as they slipped out. He hadn't even known thorns could actually grow that _large_. Antonio was swaying with every little movement Armando made, flopping to and fro like a boneless ragdoll, with his eyes just as glassy as one's. How much blood did he actually lose?

"Oh God, we have to get you to the hospital." Working as quickly as possible, Armando gently laid Antonio's arm over his shoulder, hoisting him to his feet before they started to inch towards the door at a snail's pace, with Armando being careful not to jostle Antonio's wounded hand too much.

"You dumbass. You f-cking dumbass..." Armando refused to believe that the heat building behind his eyes were tears.

He was _not_ about to lose his little brother, no matter how stupid Antonio was.

* * *

 _ **Powers:**_

 ** _Antonio Fernández-Carriedo - ? ? ?_**

 ** _Armando_** ** _Fernández-Carriedo - N/A (?)_**


	4. Intro Arc: Gilbert & Ludwig Beilschmidt

**|A/N| Greetings and salutations, my beautiful readers!**

 **This chapter wasn't easy, but I'm pretty proud of the end result. I had to change it a few times and then completely cut-out a few scenes that I wanted to use, but that's okay** — **I think the chapter gets its point across fairly well.**

 **Anyway, I wish you all a fond _adieu_ until next time! Enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

 **Note: Numerous suicide attempts from our resident albino. Also, one made-up, unimportant character who is nothing more than a plot device.**

* * *

 _February 16, 2016_

 _Quedlinburg, Germany_

* * *

"You should feel lucky that you didn't die."

Silence reined in the crisp, cold air, the only sound was of the snow crunching under Gilbert and Ludwig's feet. Gilbert had his lips pressed into a thin, straight line, refusing to give an immediate answer to his little brother's words. More minutes stretched between them and, as Gilbert fixed his satchel so that it rested more comfortably over his shoulder, he finally responded. "Yeah, I should've felt lucky the first time."

Bright blue eyes looked at the albino. Ludwig matched Gilbert's frown to a T, " _Just_ the first time?" He pushed, stuffing his gloved hands deeper into his pockets. A slight pause, one that meant that Ludwig was collecting his thoughts. "I know why you hate this..." He said, trailing off as he looked over at his brother with a calm gaze.

"Why wouldn't you?" Gilbert spat, his voice snappy and bitter, as he kicked up a large chunk of snow. "You know everything, Lud."

"Not everything..." Was the only this Ludwig murmured in reply, moving his gaze to his feet. "We should get home. Miss Grün might be getting worried."

Shaking his head, Gilbert stopped walking. "Not yet...She wouldn't even care anyways." He replied, red eyes looking at the iced-over stream that ran through the street. "I need to see something." Shedding his coat, the albino dropped it into the snow and took a few slow steps towards the gated water, standing in front of it in thought. He could try, it would be hard to get back out if he did manage to survive it though...

Gilbert's hands were wrapped around gate's cold bars before he even knew what was happening, the sound of clattering metal telling him that he had climbed over the fence. Ludwig was shouting, his normally calm voice suddenly panicked, but the minimal breeze ruffling through Gilbert's hair sounded like a hurricane in his ears. " _Let go..."_ His heartbeat almost thrummed, speaking from his chest.

Everything seemed to play in slow motion as he obeyed the request. His fingers left the metal as he fell forwards, barely being able to fit in the canal and almost banging his head on the other side. Ludwig was shrieking at him, but Gilbert felt like he was flying, cold air cocooning him. Really, the short-looking fall felt like it was taking hours, with the snowy stream approaching at a snail's pace.

He could almost feel the release. This would be it; this time it was going to be his end. What would the headline be? " _Local Orphan Boy Falls Into River, Dead Instantly?_ " Would anyone, besides Ludwig of course, care that he was dead and gone and never coming back? Miss Grün would probably be overjoyed at the prospect of having one less mouth to feed and an easier way of getting Ludwig out of her care...

Maybe...maybe this was a bad idea...

Suddenly, both his flight and his thoughts were stopped with a painful jolt, but not by the ice mere inches away from his nose. No, another force was slowly tugging him upwards, away from his death. It shuddered and jerked, like a metal lift being held by only a rope, but it was making good progress. A horrified voice started prodding around inside of his head, making guilt absorb his thoughts as the quiet words clattered together and scattered around his conscious.

 _Idiot. Why would you even do that...? Why would you do any of this? The poison; the noose; the fire. Don't you understand that if I lost you, just because you're afraid of being a "freak," then I'd have no one left? How selfish can you be Gilbert?_

Gilbert looked down at the ice-covered water, eyes flickering to the bars that were so close to his hand he could grab onto them. Whatever was holding him pulsed, clearly weakening its grip on his body. With only a second to think about what he wanted, Gilbert wrapped a hand around the bar, dangling as the force dissolved and left him with only his own muscle to keep him hanging there. Ludwig's face peered down at him, looking both horrified and amazed, his blue eyes wide as he held out a hand to the albino.

Accepting the help with ease, Gilbert scrambled back up and over the bars, frowning when he felt how shaky Ludwig's hands were. He didn't question it, though; the tremors were probably nothing more than a result of fear.

As soon as Gilbert was kneeling in the snow, grabbing his snow-dampened jacket and shaking it out, Ludwig spoke. "What happened? How...How did you do that?" He sounded breathless, like he had just ran a marathon, and his muscles were slack from too much exertion being put on them.

"No idea, but it wasn't me. Though, I think I have an idea of who it was." Gilbert pulled on his dark blue jacket, hugging it close to himself despite the cold coming from the fabric, as he stared at Ludwig with curious eyes. "Let's just go to the house. We'll talk about it later."

Ludwig nodded.

* * *

Dinner inside of the Quedlinburg Orphanage was always a quiet affair. No one really had anything to say to each other; Erika had gone all but mute after her brother Vash had been adopted, Raivis didn't speak German or anything other than his native Latvian, and the Beilschmidt brothers just liked to keep to themselves. Though, even if they wanted to talk, the caretaker of the four children made it clear she would prefer if they kept silent.

She really did live up to the idiotic and outdated motto of "Children are to be seen, not heard."

While Ludwig only seemed to dislike her, Gilbert loathed her with a seething passion. She practically muzzled him the first few weeks the two brothers had been there, giving him steely glares when she thought he wouldn't notice it. Contempt was all she felt for him. He knew that her hatred of him stemmed from him looking... _different_. White hair, red eyes, pale skin: Albinism, the affliction he had been born with and would die with.

Gilbert liked the way he looked, but Miss Grün was an old-fashioned woman who belonged in the 1800s. She saw him as a devil, not even daring to touch him, and that was something that was riskier than ever for both him and Ludwig now.

He _couldn't die_ ; not from snapping his neck or drowning or suffocation. Gilbert was immune to all of that, plus the other thirty-seven methods he and Ludwig had tried earlier in the week. Now, not only did his appearance mark him as a "devil," but he was surviving the impossible in such a way that could be labeled _witchcraft._ She would surely lock him away inside of some church and make sure he never escaped.

"So..." The whole table froze at the sudden noise, multiple pairs of eyes moving to their caretaker in sync. Miss Grün put down her spoon, immaculately folding her hands on her lap and straightening her already pole-like posture. She was focused on Raivis, who trembled under her narrowed gaze. Really, the poor Latvian teen trembled at everything. "A very nice couple came in today while all of you were out. They asked for a very quiet, very polite child."

Erika, Gilbert and Ludwig all focused on Raivis as well. The Latvian looked like he was having a panic attack. He was starch white, his odd purple-tinted eyes as round as pinwheels, as his breathing became labored. Everyone turned away, except for Miss Grün. Raivis really was frightened of her.

"And I, of course, recommended you, Raivis. They both speak perfect Latvian, so don't worry about that." Was that Gilbert's imagination, or was Miss Grün...smirking? It was small, barely there, but he could see that it wasn't a normal smile. He didn't have much time to dwell on it though, before the woman turned her attention back to everyone else at the table. "How about you three go up to your rooms while I finish telling Raivis about his new family."

It wasn't a question. It was a command.

Everyone rose, slowly, taking caution when moving to grab their plates. Miss Grün stopped them with a wave of her hand, sending them all off to their rooms with a similar motion. Gilbert and Ludwig spared Raivis a pitying look as they both walked up the stairs to their shared room, before exchanging their own glances at each other. Gilbert held up one finger on a hand, while the other displayed two.

Twelve o'clock. They would speak at twelve o'clock. That was the safest time; Miss Grün was asleep at that time, giving them until the sun rose to talk to each other.

And they had a lot to talk about.

* * *

 ** _Powers:_**

 ** _Gilbert Beilschmidt - Resurrection_**

 ** _Ludwig Beilschmidt - ? ? ?_**


	5. Intro Arc: Emil Steilsson

**|A/N| Greetings and salutations, my beautiful readers!**

 **(Ahhh, I didn't realize this was late! Just when I thought I was on top of updating, too. My sincere apologizes, have an early update!)**

 **And with this chapter, the Intro arc is completed; whoop, whoop. This chapter is really just some unimportant filler introducing Emmy and company (and the RomNor), but there are some key points to it, especially towards the end. That's all I can say for now, though!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _February 24, 2016_

 _Bergen, Norway_

* * *

"Hey, Lu, have you seen my hat?"

Emil groaned, opening an eye and watching tiredly as Vladimir tore up the living room. Sitting up and stretching on his place on the couch, the teen yawned out a question. "Why do you even wear the stupid thing around?" His voice was slurred with sleep, but Emil didn't really care. The more tired he sounded the more Vlad felt guilty; Emil was going to get revenge for being woken up from his nap on a break day.

Red eyes looked at him, before Vladimir sent the boy a devilish smile, like he was proud of waking the teen up. "Welcome back to the waking world, Sleeping Beauty." He chuckled, closing his eyes with amusement. "And, to answer your question, I wear my hat because it's where I keep my magic. We've been over this, Emmy." Vladimir winked.

"Yeah, when I was five." Emil rolled his eyes, flopping back onto the couch and turning away from the Romanian. "I'm not a baby anymore, Vlad. And _don't call me Emmy._ " The silver-haired boy huffed, pulling his blanket (decorated with exploding cartoon volcanos...A gift from one of Lukas' old friends, Matthias, a long time back) closer around himself.

"That name's cute though, little brother." Said Lukas' monotone voice, hovering right above the Icelandic teen's spot on the couch. A small pressure landed on Emil's arm after a few moments, before he heard Lukas shuffle towards Vladimir.

Groaning, Emil looked at the toy resting on his pectoral; Mister Puffin looked back with dead button eyes. Great. "Why'd you bring this relic out? I don't need a toy." He said, deciding that he wouldn't be getting back to his nap and tossing his legs over the side of the couch. Emil glared at his older brother, demanding an answer. No matter how many times he tried to get rid of the damn plushie, Lukas always managed to get it back.

Lukas and Vladimir stood side-by-side, the latter bent down slightly so that the Norwegian could place that silly ribbon-decorated hat on his head. Irritatingly calm bluish-purplish eyes looked at Emil, an eyebrow over one of them raised. "Don't you like Mister Puffin anymore, little brother?" He asked, lips tugging downwards a bit more than usual, "I remember when I couldn't separate you two."

Of course. Lukas always brought up the memories of when he was a toddler.

"That was when I was little!" Emil huffed, standing up and storming past the duo, the plushie being held in a tight grip around the neck. "Why can't you two treat me like an adult? I'm not a stupid kid anymore!"

Both of the adults said nothing, listening as the door to Emil's room slammed and, after a few minutes, the window opened. Vladimir was the first to break the silence, giving a sigh through his nose as he straightened up again, "He's going to go over to that Chinese kid's place again, isn't he?"

"Where else does he go when he hates us?" Lukas responded, not even sounding affected by his little brother's words, as he fixed the Romanian's black tie. "He's a teenager, Vlad. I'm not sure how to treat him anymore; I'm only qualified to work with toddlers."

Vladimir smirked, his one oversized canine glinting in the low light of the living room, "That makes both of us, Lu. Speaking of toddlers, we should get to the daycare, da? After all, we don't want to be late!"

"I suppose so. You're driving this time though."

"Of course."

* * *

Leon was throwing pebbles at the frozen surface of Fishing Lake when Emil rode up on his bike, still silently fuming as he let the bike drop into the snow. The brunettewas wearing about seven layers to Emil's two, but the Icelandic teen was already used to that, watching in slight amusement as Leon struggled to turn his head. "Hey, Em." He greeted once he finally locked eyes with his friend, waving a gloved hand.

"Don't call me that." Emil grumbled in reply, scaling over a particularly large rock and settling down beside Leon.

Pouting, Leon raised an (admittedly oversized) eyebrow in question. "What's got you so, like, pissy?" Another pebble was thrown, bouncing off the ice and skittering a foot away from where it originally landed.

"Take a wild guess, Brow Boy." Emil gave an amused smirk when Leon's face turned even more red, but not from the cold this time. Emil knew that his friend was a bit insecure about the whole "eyebrow issues" he had, but it was just funny to push the usually-bitch-faced Leon's buttons once in awhile; especially when he was feeling upset himself. Yes, it was cruel, but also hilarious.

Shaking his head and sorting out his expression so that it was once again neutral, Leon sighed, "The two lovebirds acting like you're a baby again?" He asked, resting his head on his knees and letting his eyes fall halfway closed.

"Yuck." Emil stuck out his tongue at Leon's comment about Vladimir and Lukas, scrunching up his nose a bit. "Don't call them _that_ , it's gross. And, yeah; they're treating me like one of those snot-nosed brats they take care of at their job." Violet eyes rolled in their sockets, Emil frowning.

Leon just smirked, picking up a smooth stone and holding it in his palm. "Why can't I call 'em, like, lovebirds? Aren't they an item?" The brunette's smirk turned into a cheeky grin, "Or does sleeping in the same bed not count as being in love?"

"They only did that once!" Emil embarrassedly shrieked, going red-faced as the memory resurfaced, giving Leon a hard punch to the shoulder. "And that was when _you_ slept over in the guest room; you now Vladimir usually sleeps in there."

Throwing his head back, Leon gave a good-natured laugh. He looked at the silver-haired boy beside him with amused eyes. "I know, but it's always fun to rile you up, Em." He said, standing up and walking over to one of the only bushes with some leaves left on it. Bending down, Leon took out his satchel from the green confines of the bush, tossing it over his shoulder and grabbing his own bike from where it was hidden.

"Where're you going? I just got here." Emil said, wrapping his arms around his knees and curling into a ball.

Leon put a foot on his bike, shrugging, "You know that Teach will get mad if I'm late for dinner." The Chinese boy's grin grew larger than Emil had ever seen it. "Are you going to miss me in all my glory, Em-Em?" He fluttered his eyelashes and put his hands under his chin in a hammock, making Emil gag.

"Of course I won't," Emil stood and hoisted his own bike out of the snow, "I just don't want to go back to the house while it's empty. I'll take you to your place since I know the way even better than you do, Dumberella."

"My knight in shining armor~" Leon mockingly sang, rolling his eyes and hopping onto his flame-decorated transportation. Emil was still surprised that Leon's oldest brother, Yao, had allowed the boy to buy it. "What would I ever do without you?"

"You'd probably be a lot less gay." The Icelandic boy laughed, pushing down on the pedal of his bike and leading the way to Leon's place, his friend right behind him.

Emil usually wasn't so... _lively_ , but he felt a bit more relaxed with Leon. He didn't feel the need to act mature around the other boy. Lukas and Vladimir weren't hovering over him when Leon was around and it was a sweet, sweet release. Of course, there was the plus to their friendship. Emil wasn't being judged for his hair or his eyes or his accent, like what had happened so many times before, but Leon could compare the traits with him and laugh about it.

Of course, Emil always knew that the people at school didn't view him as an equal because of it all. But, he really didn't care.

Leon was _fun_ and Emil had never felt so...well, normal.

* * *

"Bro, I'm home!" Leon threw open the door, tossing his satchel onto the coat rack and shedding his jacket as Emil did the same. It always felt odd to Emil when Leon did things like this, but he was slowly getting more and more used to it. "Yao!" The Chinese teen called again when no reprimand or answer immediately came. That was odd...

Footsteps padded down the hall, coming from the kitchen. They sounded as light as a cat's. "Leon?" A face that _defiantly_ didn't belong to the older Wang popped out from the corner, a bright smile on it. His hair reminded Emil of the pictures Lukas had shown him of Matthias, except for the fact that this man's hair was jet black instead of blonde.

"K-Kamon?" Leon looked just as shocked as Emil felt. His eyes were big, filled with confusion. "What are you doing here? I thought you were back in Thailand! Where's Yao?"

Kamon's full body quickly followed his head as he went to scoop Leon into a hug. "I'll explain later, I'm just so glad to see you again, little cousin! And to answer your second question: Yao went to go get some fresh fish for dinner." After releasing Leon, Kamon's large golden eyes fell onto Emil. The man blinked, tilting his head to the side. "Hm? Are you a friend of Leon's?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm Emil. Emil Steilsson." Emil offered a hand, years of Lukas teaching him proper etiquette forcing him to do so. There was something... _unsettling_ about Leon's cousin. His smile was a little too forceful, barely reaching his golden eyes that glinted with some sort of...Well, Emil didn't know what it was, but it defiantly wasn't good. Emil didn't trust him.

"It's very nice to meet you, Emil." Kamon replied, taking Emil's hand and giving it a firm handshake. His hands were impossibly cold. "I'm glad that Leon has found a friend!" His smile wasn't happy; it was forced, almost like it was programmed.

Yes. Emil didn't trust Kamon at all.


	6. Collision Course: Poisoned Blood

**|A/N| Greetings and salutations, my beautiful readers!**

 **I swear the last bit has loads of meaning. It becomes important later, so take notes (or don't, that's fine too). Also, Antonio's ailment is not so out-of-nowhere as it may seem. That's all I can say~**

 **Anyways! I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

 _February 10, 2016_

 _Santander, Spain_

* * *

Antonio woke up to the bitter smell of antiseptic and medicine, along with the sound of beeping mixing with the gentle rhythm of rain against the window. Forcing his eyes open, he let a small groan escape his mouth before his mind sped up a bit more. Everything hurt, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes; his vision was fuzzy as well, like he was looking through steamy glass; and there was a large blank spot in his memory, right after the coffee shop...

Wait. Antonio frowned, trying to summon the strength to sit up as to take in his surroundings more. Why was he in the hospital? What had happened? Why...why couldn't he remember?

Struggling slightly in the unfamiliar hospital bed, the frame groaning as he did so, Antonio kicked off the covers. He barely registered the door to his room opening, an immediate panic settling in his smoke-filled mind. Armando? Where was Armando? His breathing was ragged. Arms were suddenly holding him down. Antonio was frightened, so frightened. _What was going on?_

"Sh, little brother. I'm here. Stop struggling."

The hands grasping his arms left. A warmth enveloped Antonio's own left hand, squeezing in gentle reassurance, as Armando's other hand ruffled Antonio's hair. He was smiling gently, eyes a little red around the edges, and his own brown hair was messy and unkempt. Antonio blinked at his brother, before wondering how long he had been in this bed. Armando didn't really like getting very messy, unless he was worried; then his appearance tumbled down the drain.

Without letting go of Antonio's hand, Armando grabbed one of the plastic hospital chairs a few inches away from the bed and sat down. The collection of nurses that must have come into the room (so they must've been what was holding him down...) with the Portuguese man quickly took Antonio's vitals, before rushing out so that the two brothers could have their privacy. A brief silence followed.

"...Hey." Antonio finally whispered, swallowing the nervousness he felt brewing in his chest.

Armando closed his eyes, sighing gently as his shoulders slumped. "Hey. I'm glad to see you're awake..." He replied, eyes flickering everywhere as if he were anticipating someone to jump out at them. "You were out for two days."

"What?"

Opening his eyes, Armando looked Antonio dead-on, a frown replacing his previous relieved smile. He seemed _mad_ , mood changing so quickly Antonio jumped. Why...? "You were out for _two days_ , Toni. Do you know how worried I was? I mean, yeah, you were frustrated at me, but..." Armando shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to calm his frazzled nerves. "Why did you do it? That's all I want to know."

"Do...what?" Antonio asked, furrowing his eyebrows together and pouting, trying to remember. That space in his memory wasn't completely blank anymore, but it was still indiscernible; just a collection of fractured images and snippets of memory, having no rhyme or reason to the way they were arranged.

It was like a jigsaw puzzle; one that was missing a few pieces and without the box's finished diagram.

"The _poison_ , Antonio. I just thought it was blood-loss from that damn rose, but then the doctors ran some tests and..." Another shake of the head. Armando seemed to be grasping for straws about now and Antonio could practically _see_ the stress weighing on his brother. "They all said that you had a high concentration of some kind of poison in your system. You're really lucky that it wasn't enough to kill you instantly, just incapacitate you."

Poison...? Antonio just blinked, his eyes heavy and his head suddenly feeling light. The fuzzy snapshots suddenly burst into focus, making him wince slightly; the rose, the blood, the awful pain of it. But, there was no poison in his memories. "I didn't drink any poison, Armando...h-honest..."

"Then tell me how it got into your stomach."

"I don't know...But I'm...sorry?"

Apologize. That's all he could do right now.

"Alright..." Armando sighed, looking at his little brother. Despite how much he tried to hide it, Antonio was barely keeping his eyes open; his blinks slow and getting closer to just staying shut.

"Just...rest. I'm going to go get cleaned up and come back later to check you out of here." Standing up and grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair (when did that get there?), Armando made his way to the door, taking one final look at Antonio. "Don't think this conversation is over, though, Toni. We're going to talk about this sooner or later."

The door closed, leaving Antonio alone with his heart monitor and the rain drizzling outside. His thoughts were still too jumbled to be very good company.

Another person opened up the door before Antonio's eyes could close. Nothing really brought his attention to her, but she seemed to force his eyes onto her anyways. She had a medical facemask over her mouth, her long black hair tied up into a bun, eyes that glinted brown underneath the room's fluorescent lighting. She wasn't very outstanding; just the basic nurse who no one really remembered after their hospital trip.

Antonio gave her a tired wave (hey, he should still be polite) before sleep grabbed him, coddling him in reassuring arms. The heart monitor set out a calming tempo, making him feel secure.

* * *

.

* * *

90245 adjusted their facemask, trying to make it so that it covered as much of their features as possible. They couldn't stop fidgeting, despite how much training they had gone through so that they didn't do so. A cold cylinder pressed against their thigh as they walked into their target's room, reminding them of the mission. The Boss' voice echoed through their head.

" _Fernández-Carriedo, Antonio. Suspected_ _botanokinetic. A possible danger. We just need DNA samples for now 90245; no need to use your..._ specialty _for this assignment._ "

There he was. 90245 steeled their nerves, shuffling over to the man's bedside. He waved at them, although they suspected him to be too sleepy to really care about some random nurse, before his eyes closed and soft snores filled the room. They felt themselves nodding, knowing that if the man was asleep it would be easier to complete their mission, before grabbing the empty IV bag from its hook and replacing it with a fresh one.

They would have to quick. The older brother said that he was just getting cleaned up, but they knew that he only planned on a quick change of clothes. There was no time to waste, then.

Extracting the syringe from their pocket, they stepped closer to the sleeping patient. Fernández-Carriedo looked peaceful, a soft smile stretched over his face and his eyes already flickering in REM sleep. They suddenly felt hesitant, thoughts beginning to fill their head. How long had it been since they were allowed to dream? Much less _smile?_ The syringe lowered the more they thought. They barely remembered anything before the Boss...

Did they want to take those small joys away from someone so...young?

What were they wondering about? They shook their head, a few strands of hair falling from their bun. It was just a small blood sample; nothing more, nothing less. There was no time for useless questions, they had a job to complete. Raising the syringe again, they started to examine the man's arm for a good vein. Their eyes alighted on one almost instantly, the blue standing out amongst the tanned skin. Perfect.

Gently putting down the man's arm so that the vein faced upwards, they took the cap off of the syringe, emptying all of the air from it quickly. No time. No time. No...

The door slammed open. The air outside picked up. Everything in their body came to a standstill. _Not good, not good, not good._ The world was in overdrive. An unnatural heat pooled around their neck, letting them know the new person's identity as the smell of searing flesh filling their nose. They choked out a cry, staring at the sleeping brunette on the bed with blurring vision.

 _Not fast enough..._

Footsteps filled their ears with a rhythm like a funeral drum, the fire dancing on their neck growing fiercer. Helius grabbed their bun, throwing them away from Antonio and against the wall, a barrier of heat trapping them inside of a small capsule. 90245 stared at their new-found opponent, feeling helpless and small. They didn't want to fight...But he looked like he expected one. The air around the Unnatural was wavering like the horizon in a desert, his eyes lit up like light bulbs and teeth bared in a snarl.

"Did you think I wouldn't be ready for one of you?" Helius asked, taking a step forward. 90245 couldn't say anything. Helius continued, "I may not be in the loop with the 'Illusionist' anymore, but I still get regular updates from him. And he said that your damn _organization_ was back." He spat out that one word like it was poison, making 90245 shudder.

Of course, they should had known. The Illusionist kept every Unnatural alerted to odd events taking place.

With five more steps, the man was towering over them, not even bothered by the ring of heat. Helius actually seemed to be seconds away from bursting into flames himself, eyes glowing completely yellow now. The rain outside was a practical hurricane. They were surprised that the windows hadn't burst into a flurry of knife-like shards yet.

"Now, I'm wondering if you're worth keeping alive." A trail of flame slowly curled its way up Helius' arm like a snake. "Or if I should just let your death be classified as 'spontaneous combustion.' Tell me, which one seems like the better option?"

 _What do you want from me...?_ 90245 asked, letting their voice echo around Helius' conscious while they dropped their head. There was no way that he would let them go free without them giving him something. Anything he wanted, they would give; he knew that. The Boss was not going to be happy with them, anyway. They had failed their mission. _Whatever it is, I will give it to you._

Helius smiled, the expression horribly cold, and let the heat dissipate along with the flames dancing on his arm. He offered a hand to them, but they just scrambled to their feet. Smile disappearing in a flash, Helius let his hand fall to his side. The hurricane outside became a drizzle. "I want to know all that you can tell me."

A sudden, odd desperation filled 90245, dancing through their veins and making sure that they were consumed by it. They had spent so long protecting both The Boss and his secrets; it was their only function by now. It was instinctual to keep it safe. They were nothing more than a puppet, drained of freewill and their own life...Now was a chance to break from that man's shackles...

 _Fine...I'll tell you everything I am able to. But, I need you to promise me something once the deed is done._

Helius raised an eyebrow, clearly weighting his options, before giving a stiff nod. Perfect.

Without a pause, 90245 dropped to their knees. They ignored the cool hospital floor, their hands splayed out as they squeezed their eyes shut. Flashes of colors filled their vision, images that they drew from every part of their mind. As quickly as they appeared, the flashes melted away into blank spots of memory; deleted like a picture from a camera. Helius suddenly gasped as more and more images faded, letting them know that their power was working.

Finally, nearly everything in their memory was gone except for some age-old scraps, floating around in Helius' own conscious. They fell on their side, the other Unnatural right after them. 90245 opened grey eyes, watching as Helius opened his own green ones. He was twitchy, like he had been overcharged, but he would be fine. 90245 knew that th-no, _she_ wouldn't be...

Drawing on the last of her strength, 90245 sent her request to Helius. _I want you to...Kill me._ _Please..._

Helius blinked at her, eyes round as he sat up. His movements jerky and uncoordinated, tears ran down his face. After a few swift moments, he raised a hand; a small blue flame sprung up, hovering calmly over his palm. "Are..." He swallowed. She was surprised at how...mellow he was when not in a defensive rage. She almost chuckled. Helius steeled his nerves and tried again. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." Her lips quivered, unused to feeling words float over them. She had forgotten what her own voice sounded like. "My whole adult life has been hell on earth...You must be able to tell from those...memories." He didn't have to nod for her to know it was true. His eyes matched the ones that she had seen in the mirror for so long: Distant, tortured, scared. A fleeting moment of guilt hit her, but she brushed it off quickly. "I just need...release."

That convinced him. Shuffling over to her, Helius nodded, like he was assuring her that it would be fine. She wished to do the same for him, but the well of strength left in her was comparable to a riverbank during a drought. Empty. The flame dancing in Helius' hand grew larger as he put his hand closer to her chest, before she could feel the cold of it touching her heart.

Everything in her was draining away, leaving her nothing more than a desert void of life. Helius' worried face peered over her, but she did something...odd.

For the first time in a long while, 90245—no, that wasn't her name anymore was it? What was it again...Hue? She really didn't remember much—smiled. She dropped her head, no longer able to keep it up. The worry on Helius' face was quickly replaced by shock, that being the last thing Hue was able to see before everything faded to a warm, black cocoon.

At least she was able to help Helius...He would need it...


	7. CC: Communication Via Dreams

**|A/N| Greetings and salutations, my beautiful readers!**

 **You guys want angst? Well the end's got some angst. And it's actually one of my favorite highlights of this chapter! Speaking of this chapter, I'm sorry the update's a week late; I was working on a later chapter (which was, originally, supposed to be this one) but it went to crap. Then I rewrote this one three times. But it was fun to have it morph into something different!**

 **Alright, enjoy everybody. And, thanks to anyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed so far; it means a lot to me!**

* * *

 _February 12, 2016_

 _?-?-?, ?-?-?_

Feliciano found himself walking down a long, white-painted hallway.

He had never seen anything like it before; it went on for as far as the eye could see, the doors dotting the sides spaced every few feet. Still, despite the oddity of it, the hall almost seemed...familiar? As if he had seen it as a child and the memory was only just resurfacing. He didn't focus on the overwhelming feeling of déjà vu, already feeling nauseous from it, and instead letting his thoughts melt into static as his feet lead him where they wanted him to go.

Every door he passed was different. That was something he couldn't help but to notice. Rotting wood or polished oak; painted pink or white with little designs; metal or opaque glass. It was fascinating, making a small part of the Italian wanted to yank one of the doors open and investigate. A bigger part of his conscious held him back, forcing him to keep a brisk pace; like he was late for a class.

Another thing was odd about the hallway, Feliciano noted, was that his footsteps didn't make any noise. Not even a shuffle or soft thump emanated from the glossy white floor. It wouldn't surprise the young man if he wouldn't be able to hear himself speak while in the hall.

The silence was deafening; even the inside of head Feliciano's head was quiet, an odd phenomena. Nothing about Feliciano was quiet, even his whispering was more of a hushed shout, so this change was almost disorienting. How long had he been walking anyways? A few minutes? An hour? He couldn't really tell. It felt like he was going both too slow and too fast. Everything was jumbled, wherever this was.

Feliciano found his eyes drifting to a door up ahead; it was redwood, a silver doorknob glinting from the unnatural light filtering down from the hall's ceiling. Quickening his steps, Feliciano's feet guided him towards that one door. As soon as he was standing in front of it, he felt the urge to pull the doorknob stronger than ever. His mind was giving him the okay to open up this one door, it seemed.

The silver was cold underneath Feliciano's grasp, sending a refreshing, tingling feeling up his arm. Feliciano swallowed, throat suddenly dry, as he stared at the door. A small carving was in the center of the wood, displaying a group of three birds in the midst of flight. It was almost peaceful, but the Italian felt something odd emanating from the minimalistic etching.

Shaking his head, Feliciano took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. _Something_ was pulling him towards the door; it was probably important, no time for fear.

Wrapping his fingers around the doorknob tighter, the Italian sighed and slowly turned to knob. There was no use in hesitation; that was what his grandfather had always said when he or Lovino were afraid. Feliciano missed the old man...If he were alive, Lovino wouldn't be so stressed...No, Romulus wouldn't like Feliciano's train of thought. After all, people had to die sometime, right? This wasn't the time for him to mourn.

A blast of cold air hit Feliciano's face as the door swung open. It was dark inside, with barely anything visible to the naked eye. Feliciano took a tentative step inside, letting the dark cover him as he heard the door click closed behind him. He hadn't closed that...

"Hello?" He called out, not expecting there to be an answer. And there wasn't, only an echo of his own voice bouncing around the room. A few more steps forward; the room was suddenly freezing, causing Feliciano to grip onto his arms and shiver. His footsteps were louder, amplified by how cavernous the room seemed to be. "Is anybody there?" Feliciano tried again, hoping for a way to direct himself instead of simple drifting.

Something moved in the dark. The sound mixed with Feliciano's echoes, making it all the more creepy. It almost sounded like...chains? Yes, like large metal chains dragging on concrete, like ghosts in horror movies. The temperate took another sharp plummet; Feliciano could see his own panicked breaths.

More movement reached Feliciano's ears, something freezing wrapping around his wrist and prompting him to scream. Nails were digging into his skin like icicles, another hand(?) slapping across his face to mute his screeching. _"Shut up, shut up, shut up! Do you want them to catch you?!"_ A voice echoed; had it been spoken out loud? Or inside of his head?

Light suddenly chased out the dark, shining from somewhere beside his attacker. Feliciano went quiet, finding himself looking into completely white eyes. The hands fell away, the person taking a step back and wiping a hand on his pants. _"Very good."_ The voice said again as he nodded. Turning away, he motioned for Feliciano to follow him. _"Come, we have a lot to discuss. And don't try to say no; I don't want to stay here long."_

Feliciano rubbed his wrist, staring at the blue skin and grooves that the man's nails had left. That would leave a mark, wouldn't it? Feliciano frowned, keeping pace with the man and taking time to study his appearance: Blue vest, white long-sleeved undershirt, khaki pants; all of that paired with blonde hair and pale skin. He seemed average, stereotypical nerd, the only thing marring the illusion was his eyes. Who even had eyes like that? Those certainly couldn't be contacts...

 _"I suppose you're wondering who I am?"_

Feliciano jumped, blinking stupidly at the sudden question. Slowly, he nodded, "Yeah. I'm Feliciano Vargas! If that makes you more comfortable with introductions. I knew this boy once who never wanted to tell me his name, but when I introdu-"

The man stopped in his tracks, sending the Italian a (supposed) glare over his shoulder. _"I have no need for that. I know who you are already. Again, the faster we finish this the better it will be for us."_ Turning to face Feliciano, the man adjusted his glasses and stuck out a hand. _"My name is Eduard. Eduard von Bock. I was an...Well, I suppose you can call me an_ old friend _of your grandfather."_

* * *

:

* * *

 _February 12, 2016_

 _Marijampole, Lithuania_

Green eyes stared at the immobile figure on the bed. Eduard had been "asleep" for an hour now and that was a worrying record; the Estonian usually liked to stay in the Plain for about thirty minutes. Toris sighed, standing from his seat at his cousin's bedside and grabbing the empty cup that stood on the nightstand. Quietly closing the door as he left, Toris made his way towards the cabin's kitchen.

He really shouldn't worry. After all, Eduard was anything but stupid, Toris knew that for a fact, but he couldn't help it! What with all the shit they'd been through, Toris had more than a right to fret about his little cousin. Eduard was the more powerful of the two of them, their line of defense against that damn "General" who just wouldn't stop going after them. Toris clenched his eyes closed, willing the image of a blood-spattered house from his head as he turned on the tap.

Water comforted him easily. It was constant, powerful, forbearing; able to chip away rock over hundreds of years with no end. Toris had always been drawn to it, ever since childhood, but it hadn't really made sense back then; the only water source he was exposed to was the bathtub and, occasionally, a small lake situated in the forest by his house. But, despite the limited exposure, he practically breathed the liquid. Of course, that wasn't the truth.

Toris smiled ruefully, staring at the glass in his hand as it filled to the brim. The glass started to vibrate in Toris' hands, sending tremors up his arms and coaxing a smirk to paint his lips. A flurry of shards fell into the sink and scattered across the countertop. Blood dribbled down the soft skin of the Lithuanian's hands, making Toris groan.

"You idiot." Toris' smirk morphed into a guilty frown. Running his hands underneath the stream of cool water coming from the faucet, his shoulders slumped. He really had to be more careful when testing out his ability...Eduard and he didn't have enough money to keep replacing glasses. He felt like he couldn't help it, though: That power kept blinding him. It was addictive; hard to control and impossible to give up.

After a few seconds of watching dull red swirl down the drain, Toris directed his attention to the flimsy calendar duct-taped to the wall. More specifically, the bold purple circle around February 17th. It was so close, with only five days between Toris, Eduard, and what they had been searching for, for what seemed like eons.

Toris let the stinging pain from his hands dull away, thinking about the only thing that really seemed to matter anymore.

 _We're coming for you, little cousin. After all these years apart, we're finally coming..._


	8. CC: Old Colleagues

**|A/N| Greetings and salutations, my beautiful readers!**

 **IT'S FINALLY HERE! Chapter eight has entered the building. Sorry that it took so long, this was another chapter that went through many changes, character wise. But it's completed and out and I am a proud writer. (And it has tooth-rotting RomNor. I'm not even sorry.)**

 **Hope you enjoy~!**

* * *

 _February 25, 2016_

 _Bergen, Norway_

* * *

"You know, we should've really gotten Emil a cell phone at Christmas."

Lukas tore his eyes from the old house phone sitting on the table, letting them rest on Vladimir. The Romanian was dancing around the kitchen, apron wrapped around his waist as he grabbed different utensils and ingredients. He was making Emil's favorite Icelandic sweet, Mondlukaka, as they awaited the boy's return home. Standing up from where he sat, Lukas grabbed the bag of almonds from the counter as he passed it.

"We didn't have the money back then, Vlad." He sighed, opening the bag and grabbing a cup from the cupboard. "How about we go buy him one this week? Maybe on Sunday we can have a family day or something." Despite how hard he was trying to mask it, Lukas was just as concerned as Vladimir was. Emil usually didn't stay at Leon's this long, a full day, without calling to give the two of them a heads up about a sleepover or whatever was going on. Maybe he was still upset? That seems like the most likely possibility, knowing Lukas' little brother.

Vladimir smiled, eyes holding worry. "That sounds nice. Thanks, Lu."

The duo lapsed into silence, the sound of beating eggs and grinding almonds making the kitchen come alive. Vlad was humming an old Romanian lullaby, one Lukas instantly recognized as Emil's childhood favorite. A small smile spread across his lips. Vlad loved Emil just as much as Lukas did and that was saying something; Vladimir just had that nature, Lukas supposed. The nurturing type, caring and compassionate and good with kids. It was...charming. He would make a good parent one day, if he decided to have kids.

It took no time at all for them to pop the cake into the oven. They had made that recipe more than they would like to admit, with Emil having a mouth full of sweet teeth. Then again, it seemed that the whole household did.

"You've got some flour on your nose." Lukas pointed out, taking a step closer to his friend and wiping the white powder off Vlad's face. He would never admit it, but he felt a form of pride blossom fill his chest when Vlad's pale skin dusted pink.

Vladimir took a breath to respond, most likely with a small "thanks," but was interrupted by a shrill chime from the ancient house phone. Heart leaping up into his throat, Lukas went over to the phone and picked it up from the receiver, hoping it was Emil. Biting his lip, Lukas forced himself to calm down before raising the phone to his ear, "Hello? Bondevik-Lupei residence."

"Loki?"

The voice on the other end was cracked with static, posh accent marred by bad reception. Disregarding that, it was as familiar as a slap to the face. Lukas tensed, sitting down and holding onto the table, fingers almost digging into the nice wood. "I believe you have the wrong number, sir. No one by that name lives here."

"No, I believe that I'm calling the right person. I can recognize your voice anywhere, _Loki_." Arthur's voice was condescending, forcing out both syllables of that _damned name_ that Lukas hated to admit had ever been his. Before he could say anything else, the Brit continued, "I'm supposing Vasilica is with you? After all, you ran off together, it would make sense for you to stay together after all this time."

Vladimir was looking at his worriedly, Lukas could see him from the corner of his eye. "We don't go by those names anymore." He spat, knowing that Vlad would catch on. "But I suppose you still go by Arthur?"

"Of course I do." A snort, clearly meant to be belittling. "I was given my name at creation, why would I ever change it?"

Soft footsteps approached. The phone was tugged from Lukas' hands, being pressed against Vladimir's ear. He was grim, an expression that Lukas had never wanted to see on the Romanian's face ever again. "Because it is a name stained with blood." His voice was quiet, almost ethereal in the way that you couldn't tell if he was actually speaking or not. Lukas knew the tone well; frustration, worry, anger. Negativity made Vlad quiet. "Why did you call Arthur? How did you even find us again? You hate us, remember that; we are traitors to our creator and you are much higher in rank than us."

Lukas focused on the phone, trying to listen in on the call. It was easy, easier than he had expected. "Well, what I have to tell you is important." Arthur grumbled, sounding displeased. "I'm afraid that, since I am technically a solo operation now, I must give you information meant for all three of us."

"And that information is?" Vladimir prompted, frowning.

"Well, it is my great displeasure to say that... _They're back._ "

* * *

:

* * *

 _February 25, 2016_

 _Hampshire, England_

The room was dark, blinds drawn and lights off. Arthur tapped his pen on his desk, providing the only sound in the room, as he listened to his old colleagues talk over each other in shouts. He still didn't have a clue why the two of them had stayed together after all these years, but the reason was easier to see now; the two evened each other out. Like a married couple who worked incredibly well.

A sliver of dull, yellow light flooded the room, bathing Arthur and his desk in it. The silhouette of Francis stood in the doorway, holding a tray in his hands. Arthur scowled despite himself, taking the phone from his ear and pressing his hand against the mouthpiece. "Not now, Francis," he hissed, narrowing his eyes, "I'm working."

Francis took a step forward, shaking his head in disapproval. " _Non._ " He said, putting the tray (filled with sweets and housing a steaming teapot) onto the small table Arthur used for things that couldn't fit on his desk. He grabbed a rose-decorated teacup—one that Arthur would call his favorite—and poured some of the drink into it. " _Vous avez besoin de votre force, mon ami._ " Francis smiled, looking tired.

Arthur sighed, "Fine. Only because you went through so much trouble." He watched Francis beam from the corner of his eye, the wings hidden behind his partner's large coat clearly fluffing up. "Now, let me get back to my work, please. This phone call is very important."

" _Vous allez manger, oui?_ " Francis pouted, tilting his head. Like a bird. Arthur resisted the urge to snort.

"Yes, I will." To prove his point, Arthur grabbed the teacup, raising it to his lips before blowing on it and taking a sip. "There. Happy?"

Smile growing brighter, Francis clapped his hands together. " _Oui!_ " He chirped, voice jumping up an octave. Turning around with a flash of white feathers, Francis made his way out of Arthur's study. " _Bonne chance avec le travail, Arthur! Bonne nuit._ "

"Good night to you as well, Francis." Arthur muttered, resuming his phone call. Surprisingly, Lukas and Vlad had lapsed into a quiet argument, one that Arthur was unable to listen in on. As the argument dragged on, the Brit found himself drifting into his thoughts. _'Hopefully they found that "Emil" boy. And I found Francis...That means that we still have most of this group unaccounted for. Damn.'_

Silence came from the other end of the phone, bringing Arthur's attention back to it. "Now, if you two are done bickering like an old married couple, we have many things to discuss."

"And what makes you think we want to talk to you?" Lukas spat, "We've been handling the General and his lackeys by ourselves for a long time! The bigger picture won't be that hard, considering the General is one of their highest officers." Arthur couldn't deny that fact. General Winter was a very powerful man, especially as a foe, but "Lukas" and "Vladimir" had no idea what they were truly up against.

Green eyes looked at the paper laid in front of Arthur. An array of names, give a take a few blank spots, matched with another list labeled "abilities." Two different colors ran through a set of names; Francis in green and Hue in red. That was the only information Arthur knew for sure, especially after his old partner's call, but it was still worrying.

"I know that you have been handling the General." Arthur said, leaning back in his chair and picking up another slip of paper. It was glossy, a rectangular picture displaying a young man. He seemed mostly normal, save for glowing green eyes that showed clearly in the dark. Another Unnatural, one that Arthur hadn't been able to get to. He sighed, putting the picture down again. "But have you heard of Project Genesis?"


	9. CC: Hidden In Plain Sight

**|A/N| Greetings and salutations, my beautiful readers!**

 **Chapter nine is (kind of) on time! I'm pleased with it, but it wasn't what I had been going for a first. Oh well, all you can do is change and improve, I suppose. I might revise it later; I'm not able to at the moment.**

 **I hope you enjoy~**

* * *

 _February 17, 2016_

 _Quedlinburg, Germany_

* * *

If there was one thing Erika was, it was observant.

Being quiet and small had lots of advantages. One of her favorites was that she could sneak out of bed and into Miss G's room to look through files. It was very helpful, being able to do that, especially after her big brother had been "adopted." His papers had been covered with penned graffiti, certain notes written in the margins and other things changed around haphazardly; like he was being changed into a different person.

That was upsetting to her, especially since her brother's age had been changed to "nineteen." Vash was sixteen, only two years away from gaining a bit of money from their godfather, not to mention the ability to take them away from the orphanage like he had promised. It seemed that the grown-ups had taken the money, as well as her brother.

She didn't blame him for this, of course. He had tried to stay with her, ever since they had been kicked to the curb by their aunt. Vash had tried his best, but Miss G just had to separate them after all those years of being dependent on each other. _That_ upset Erika, just like that woman did. She was the one keeping the two of them apart, from the path their godfather had told them to tread. And Erika was going to make sure that the two of them got back on course.

It was only coincidence that the Latvian boy, Raivis, had been scheduled for adoption the night before her great escape. Erika didn't know him well, but she knew that he didn't deserve what happened when someone was "adopted." So, she would just have to save him.

After waiting till the clock struck midnight, Erika tossed the thin covers of her bed off of her. The wooden floorboards were cold and rough under her feet, but she barely felt it, mind too deep into her planning. Everything had to go perfectly, at the right time. Grabbing anything she thought would be important, Erika stuffed her things into an old bag and tugged on her shoes.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door of her room and stepped out into the hall. The boys' room was just around the corner, in a separate hall, and was easy to get to, luckily. Erika bit her lip, looking at her hands. She hoped that she could remember what her godfather taught her. Squeezing her eyes closed, Erika focused, letting her everything she had been told resurface.

 _Don't think of yourself as ordinary. You are extraordinary. Both you and Vash were born special, no matter who much the world will try to say otherwise. Just close your eyes and think of what makes you yourself, Erika. Now...Change it._

It felt like cold water was rushing down her back, making her shiver. Letting her eyes flutter open, Erika looked down at her hands. Gray and almost opaque; cloudlike, just like the rest of her. She almost squealed in happiness, but quickly refocused on her mission. Stepping up to the wall, Erika pressed her hand up to the large crack in between the wooden boards making it up. Much to her pleasure, her hand slid through easily.

Erika let out a breath, following her hand through the wood. It was a tight squeeze, but easier than other things she had tried to get through. Stumbling out to the other hallway, she walked over to the door to the room all the boys' shared. She considered changing back, but quickly dismissed the thought; it would be easier brushing off questions than breaking into the room normally.

Getting onto the floor, Erika crawled closer to the crack from where the door was elevated above the ground. Another squeeze, but doable. She slid through quickly, standing up and focusing on getting herself back to normal afterwards.

The creak of a bed made her eyes snap open before she could transform completely. The youngest Beilschmidt's blue eyes met her turquoise ones. Fear crawled up her gut, catching in her throat before she could actually scream. She had been caught, by someone who showed no signs of being a fellow Unnatural.

Ludwig crawled out of bed, going over to her as quietly as a mouse, "How are you...doing that?" He whispered, staring at her hands. He didn't seem to be expecting a response, since he went on after noticing her tension, "Don't worry. Gilbert's a little unusual too."

"...W-What?" Erika's voice was hoarse from disuse, laced with surprise. Gilbert was "unusual," as well? Well, now she felt dumb; it was easy for her to see the healing rope burn around his neck at dinner. He hadn't hid it very well, except from their caretaker. Even so, she had to make sure, "How so?"

More creaking, this time Gilbert dropped down from the top bunk-bed. He had clearly been watching the whole exchange. "I can't die." He said, shrugging like he had just said something completely normal, "If I jumped out the window, the glass wouldn't kill me. Not even the fall would leave anything more than a scratch. And that would disappear as quickly as it came."

Erika just nodded, once again trying to turn back to her solid form. Dusting herself off after the deed was done, she smiled at them, "It's nice to find some other Unnaturals."

"Unnaturals?" Gilbert frowned, tilting his head slightly, "So that's what you- _we're_ called? And did you mean for that to be plural? Ludwig's normal, as far was we know..."

The girl just smiled, "Siblings are usually all powered, not just one. That's how the genetics work." Casting her gaze to the only other bed in the room, Erika addressed the two brothers, "So, now that we know we're all on friendly terms, how about you help me get out of here?"

* * *

:

* * *

 _February 17, 2016_

 _Eger, Hungary_

"The nerve..."

Elizaveta sighed, rubbing her husband's shoulders soothingly. He had been hung up on the whole Vash debacle ever since their adoption papers had been refused. And, quite honestly, she had been too. Vash and Erika were _their_ godchildren and _they_ had a legal right to house the two; it was in their poor mother's will. But they were pushed to the side time and time again, for one reason or another; it was getting tiring. "Calm down, Roddy," She muttered, "Getting into a rage won't help us get the two back."

"Well nothing will then!" Roderick exclaimed, turning his head to look at her. His eyes were practically glowing, a sure sign that he would be more than ready to fight soon. "We'll lose them completely if we don't take action now, Elizaveta. Who knows, those damn lawyers might find a way to burn _her will_." The bite in his voice was venomous, his hands forming fists.

She just nodded, sighing, "I know." Taking a seat beside him on the couch, she grabbed his hands and unraveled his fingers, before rubbing circles onto the smooth backs of his hands, "All we can do is wait for now..."

Roderick calmed down, glow leaving and shoulders slumping. He was giving into the reality, like he always did. There wasn't much they could do, what with their financial situation always being brought up. Either way, Elizaveta didn't need to finish her statement. It was something the both of them had said dozens of times before. Something they wished would become a promise.

 _"All we can do is wait for now. And hope that they'll find their way home."_


	10. CC: Roadside Saviors

**|A/N| Greetings and salutations, my beautiful readers!**

 **Sorry for disappearing on you all! I've been working through some real life things, as well as working on a new writing project (and many new AUs) with a good friend of mine. Hopefully this chapter can make up for my absence~ I hope it's alright!**

 **Alrighty! That's all I have to say. Hope you enjoy your reading!**

* * *

 _21 September, 2015_

 _Greenlee, Arizona (USA)_

* * *

"Take your feet off the dashboard or so help me..."

Heracles looked at his half-cousin, before rolling his eyes, strumming a few more notes on the old guitar he held. He had insisted on taking it with to his school. The reason why was beyond Sadik; Heracles hated the lessons he had to attend for the instrument. "Make me, Sadik. You're not my mom, and this is _her_ truck. She always let me put my feet on the dashboard."

"Yeah, well, it's my truck now. Hestia left it to me. And I say get your feet off the dashboard." Sadik huffed, smacking Heracles' leg with a spared hand before fixing his mask. It had been slipping down his face, obstructing his view of the road, so now seemed like the best time to fix it: The road was clear and quiet, the hot Arizonan sun beating down on the truck and desert surrounding them from all angles. It reminded him of Egypt, living there for over a year, and he had to push away the familiar sting of homesickness for Europe that bloomed up in his gut.

He was a man now. No time to worry about that. Especially with having to keep four little cousins in check.

Heracles stuck his tongue out at him, "Just because mom left it to you doesn't mean it's _yours._ She's gonna come back one day, I know it."

Again with this? Gritting his teeth, Sadik refused the urge to stop right in the middle of the road and give the stubborn teen a little lesson on the merciless bitch known as Life. It was getting old, this insisting that Hestia would magically show up again. "I know you're still grieving, Hera, but she's _gone._ " He mumbled, voice dull. Lifeless. He had gone through this explanation before. "She's been gone for a long time now. And the sooner you accept that she's not coming back, the easier moving on will get. For both of us."

A sour chord was struck on the guitar—something Heracles' therapist has insisted upon, as a "healthy outlet for negative emotions," in her own words—and then silence followed. There wasn't even a radio to turn on; the pickup so old the radio had been shattered and was no longer in working condition. Same for the air conditioner. Luckily enough, the two in the car were used enough to heat not to feel like they were melting.

Suddenly, Heracles spoke up, "Hey, Sadik...Pull over. I think I see something out there..." He was squinting outside, trying to see through the dirt-smudged windows of the truck.

"Fine," Sadik sighed, already getting ready to pull over. If he didn't obey the command, Heracles would whine and complain; make him feel bad that he didn't. "But if it's something stupid, I'm leaving you out here to walk home." He lied as the truck stopped, the younger of the two flinging his door open and hopping out, leaving his guitar behind.

After a few seconds of silence, Heracles yelped out a shaky, "Sadik! Come here!"

The urgency in the Greek's voice had Sadik by his side in an instant. "Hera, what..." His eyes fell on the figure laying on the ground, the image stealing the rest of his sentence from him. He kneeled down, body reacting before he knew what he was doing. He pressed his fingers to the body's wrist, feel his heart leap as he felt a (albeit weak) pulse. Thank God. They hadn't found a dead body.

He gently scooped the person—male, with short black hair and pale-turned-sunburnt skin—into his arms and turned his head towards Heracles. "Open the back door. We need to get this guy back home, fast. He's probably dehydrated and developed some heat stroke."

If it was any other time, Heracles would probably complain about being bossed around, but now he just nodded. Sadik was thankful, taking the man to the truck and setting him down gently, making sure he was secure before jumping into the driver's seat. Hopefully they could get home in time for Sadik to gather enough supplies to take care of the problem before the paramedics could be contacted...

* * *

.

* * *

Kiku woke up with a pounding in his head. He felt unstable, like he was floating. And dizzy. And tired. Everything you don't want to be, when waking up in a strange place or not. Every muscle in his body ached, his face was uncomfortably warm, and the coolness of whatever he was laying on chilled him to the bone. Where...was he?

The sound of a door opening caught his attention. Forcing his head to turn towards the noise, Kiku watched as a boy walked into the room, holding a tray with a pitcher and a glass full of ice in it. His eyes widened when they met with Kiku's, before going back to a neutral look. He walked over, setting down the tray and poor a glass of water. The sudden realization of how thirsty he was hit Kiku like a train as he watched the water hit the ice.

"Drink." The boy commanded, voice raspy and quiet. "Slowly. You are dehydrated. Drinking quickly may sound tempting, but it will not help things."

Kiku blinked stupidly, the cold shot through his fingers, all the way through his body. He took a sip of the water, relishing the liquid's soothing effect on his dry throat. He took a few more drinks, trying to ignore the boy watching him with sharp eyes, before he finally worked up enough courage to speak. "Where...am I? W-Who are you?" He winced at his own voice. It was like a middle school boy's; cracking with every emphasis.

"Gupta. That is my name." He pressed a hand to his chest, "You are in my oldest cousin's home. We found it only reasonable to house you here, after finding you on the side of the road. If you had been out there longer, you would have died." Could he say that any more casually? Kiku watched as the boy grabbed his emptying glass and poured more water into it. He loaded the pitcher back onto the tray and grabbed it, "I will tell Sadik you are awake. He will like to speak to you."

Not seemed real. Like life itself was out of focus. That was all Kiku could notice as Gupta left the room. He kept his hands wrapped, tightly, around his glass, trying to sort his thoughts.

When had he last been in a place like this? A room like this; ordinary and drab, clearly a guest room, with some potted cacti and simple paintings to decorate it. Blank spots dotted Kiku's mind, white patches where scraps had been cut out and neglected to be fixed up, not even getting the luxury of getting sewn back to join the quilt of his mind. It was disheartening. Not being able to remember.

Kiku forced himself to sit up normally, leaning against the backboard with a sigh. If he listened hard enough, he could make out a voice saying "fate only chooses the lucky." He almost laughed. Well, he was certainly lucky, from what he could tell by Gupta's words.

Again, the door opened, and another man walked in. He was older, wearing a mask and a grin on his face. "Glad to see you're doing alright," He pulled up the chair from the desk in the corner of the room and sat on it, beside Kiku's bed. He raised a hand up and pulled off his mask, revealing warm golden-brown eyes. An uncomfortable feeling shot down his spine, some sort of pain branching down every nerve.

Kiku could swear he had seen those eyes before...

But then the man asked for his name, breaking his train of thought. Kiku gave his name and asked for the man's in return. Sadik; Sadik Adnan. That name definitely wasn't one Kiku had heard before, but the discomfort lingered every time Sadik's eyes met his. What was that feeling...? Whatever it was, Kiku didn't like it. He wanted to get to the root of it.


	11. CC: Please Grab My Hand And Don't Let Go

**|A/N| Greetings and salutations, my beautiful readers!**

 **Wow, an on-time update? And over the usual around 1,000 word range at that? Really, I'm surprised at myself, haha. But, this was honestly one of my favorite chapters to actually work on so far, and I wanted to wrap it up as nicely as I could manage, so...It's longer. Plus, it was the easiest to work on so far, so that's why it was on time! It would've been early, but I had to change a part last minute. Also, it'll only be fun from here on out for Emil and Leon! Upupupu~**

 **Uhm, well, anyways...Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 _August 1, 2004_

 _Beijing, China_

Yao was not in a good mood.

Regarding at the man who sat across from him, he didn't even try to hide his glare. The restaurant was empty, all the employees having left just as the man came in. Yao was somewhat glad that they had left before things could get...messy. That was always an opportunity, when one of _his_ little pawns was involved. He did not want to deal with this

"So, what does the General want from me this time?" Yao started, picking up his cup of tea from the table. "We agreed there would be no more demands until my family was safe."

The other man tapped his fingers on the table, fiddling with his scarf, "I'm sorry, my friend. Mister Winter demanded your services; our operation is in more trouble than ever." He fixed pleading eyes on Yao. Desperation was the only thing shining clearly on his face. "All we need for you to contact Chen, get us some funds. Maybe some information as well. That's _all we need_ , and then we'll leave you all alone. Forever."

"Chen hasn't talked to me in over five years, Milen." Yao huffed, leaning back in his seat and waving a sleeve-covered hand as he spoke, "He's somewhere in Vegas. Or maybe he's back in Macau. Or, who knows, he might've finally been tracked down and killed by some gangster he cheated out of money, buried in a shallow grave or rotting in a ditch. That boy might as well be dead to the Wang family, not to mention the rest of the world."

Milen rested his elbows on the table, burying his face into his gloved hands to muffle a groan, "Mister Winter will not be happy with this, you know." He looked up again, smiling slightly with a nervous hope, "How about Romulus? You two are very close. Not to mention that I hear that he's been working on that little 'project' of his for a while, yes? If nothing else, he can help you locate that brother of yours."

"Romulus would refuse to help you. He just met his third grandson; why would he put those children, two little ones and an _infant_ , in danger? He's much smarter than I was, he's not as desperate as everyone else who helps the General is." Yao stood, placing his hands palm-down on the table, "So I would appreciate it if you left, Milen. I have no need of you here."

A frown replaced the Bulgarian's smile, "Mister Winter is not going to be doing you more favors, then. But I will no longer attempt to change your mind." He mumbled, standing, "Well, I will take my leave. Thank you for the tea, as well as your time, Yao. I have a belief we will not be seeing each other again."

"Goodbye, Milen. Safe travels."

"Goodbye, Yao. And thank you."

* * *

"Leon. Kamon. I'm home." Yao closed the door, making sure to lock it, before stepping further into the small apartment. He could hear chairs scraping out from the dinner table, the quiet pattering of little feet rushing down the hall. Leon came into view, grinning and dragging his long sleeves behind him. Heh. Yong Soo's old clothes had never fit any of the others very well...

"Yao!" He shouted, voice squeaking, "Yao's home, Kamon! He's finally back!" The four-year-old boy pounced on him, wrapping his arms around Yao's waist.

A weak chuckle came from the doorway, "Don't hurt him, little one," Kamon softly murmured, approaching his cousins. He looked drained, eyes duller than usual, but he still retained his smile. Yao could tell they would need to talk when Leon went to bed. "Yao is not as stable as he used to be; he is an old man."

"Don't make me hit you." Yao chuckled, rolling his eyes, "I am just as powerful as I was a year ago! I'm not as ancient as you make me out to be, Kamon."

Kamon chuckled, much more heartily than a few minutes before, "I am only teasing! It is all in good fun." He smiled, bending down to gently pry Leon from Yao, "Now, come. I prepared dinner tonight. It is a recipe for fishcakes Mei sent me to try to make a few weeks back."

"Kamon almost burnt it earlier," Leon mumbled, puffing out his chest and putting his knuckles on his hips, "But I saved it!"

"I bet you did," Yao ruffled Leon's hair, smiling, "Now let's go eat, okay? Wouldn't want your two's hard work going to waste."

"Yeah!" Leon threw up his arms, waving them around messily before turning around and running towards the dining room. Kamon yelped out a quick, "be careful," before chasing after the little boy. Leon just giggled as the two disappeared around the corner.

Yao hung up his jacket, pulling his phone out of his jacket. "I'll catch up you two, I need to make a phone call!" He called, waiting for the chorus of "okay" that came afterwards. Slipping out the door again, Yao typed in a very familiar number. He had to do this while he still had the means to, these calls were impossibly expensive without the General's support. The thought made Yao's heart sink.

"Yao!" A familiar, jubilant voice said from the other end, "How is my favorite foreign friend today?"

"Not very well, if I am being entirely honest with you, Romulus." Yao sighed, leaning against the wall and twirling a loose strand of hair. "Anyway, I'm sure my phone bill will be suffering if I go on too long with this. I know you told me not to keep associating myself with him, but General Winter has requested assistance once again." He heard his friend take a deep breath, ready to go on one of his infamous lectures, but Yao stopped it before it could begin. "Before you start, I will inform you that I denied him any financial aid. But, Milen - you know him, correct? - was pushy. He asked me to get you to help find Chen. I denied of course, but you know the General; he won't stop until he gets what he wants.

"I would say more, but that's all the important information. Stay safe, Romulus, and keep that family of yours safe as well. Tell Feli, Lovi and Angel that uncle Yao's presents will be late this year." He smiled into the phone, wishing that he friend could see it. "If I can send them at all. I have an inkling my money situation will take a turn for the worst..."

Romulus sighed, his speaker giving a loud crackle. Yao could see him rubbing the bridge of his nose, just like he did when they were in high school and he was struggling to wrap his head around some math problem. "Well...I guess life deals us bad hands sometimes. I won't make it worse by saying 'I told you so.'"

"I appreciate that." Yao rolled his eyes, but his amusement faded quickly, "Well, I guess this is a goodbye. For now, at least. Leon and Kamon are waiting for me so we can eat."

"Of course, of course. Wouldn't want to keep those two waiting; I still remember last Christmas...I'm pretty sure I'm still recovering" He laughed, loud and booming, while Yao threw in his own quiet chuckle at the memory. "Anyways...I will talk to you again, Yao. Make sure to take care of those two, as well as Vas, if you see him. He's supposed to be in your area soon, according to my calculations; he'll stop by for a while if he is."

"I promise I will. As much as I can, at least. That boy can eat a whole family's worth in one sitting."

"Well, he needs all the energy he can. Talk to you later, Yao. Best wishes."

"Thank you. To you as well."

Yao kept the phone to his ear for a few minutes, before letting his arm rest at his side. He dragged a hand through his hair, sagging against the wall. He wasn't ready for this. He already felt the weight of worlds on his shoulders. And now, without the one person who could make him feel strong no matter what...All he wanted to do was curl up and scream.

But, Kamon and Leon were waiting. And he had to take care of them. That was his job, after all.

* * *

:

* * *

 _February 24, 2016_

 _Bergen, Norway_

 _I am going to kill that son of a bitch..._

Yao gripped the steering wheel, knuckles bleaching white as he sped home. His phone laid, discarded, on the passenger seat, still open to his texts; they were from some random number, to an unknowing eye, but Yao knew it all too well. General Winter. Or, at the very least, one of his "higher-up" lackeys. Hopefully, whoever it was wasn't at his home yet, or he swore to all that was holy they wouldn't escape without less blood in their body.

Pulling up to his house, Yao narrowed his eyes at the car sticking out, almost unnoticeably, from the side of the house. It certainly wasn't one Yao remembered seeing at any point in time, and it set off alarm bells as loud as thunder when he noticed the two bikes lying on the house's front wall.

He took a deep breath, turning off the ignition and sliding out of the car. If the boys had been harmed, he wouldn't forgive himself; his promise to, not just his parents, would be broken if Leon was injured, but also his vow to Romulus. He ran to the door, ignoring the slickness of the ice beneath his feet. The door was unlocked, so he crashed right through, "Leon? Emil? Are you two in here?" He called out, dropping his stuff. His hands were shaking.

The thumping of footsteps came from the stairs. He felt overwhelming relief wash over him as Leon and Emil showed up, standing at the top of the stairs. "Yeah, we're here, Teach." Leon said, eyebrows furrowed and frown tilting his lips down, "What's wrong? You look like you just had a heart attack."

"I wouldn't be surprised..." Yao mumbled, taking the steps two at a time and scooping the two teenagers into his arms, hugging them tightly. "You two don't know how relieved I am you're okay..."

Leon squirmed in the hug, pouting, "What are you, like, talking about?" When Yao released the hug, he tilted his head, "Didn't you know Kamon was, like, here? He said you were getting fish for dinner." At his side, Emil nodded, looking half worried and half alarmed.

Yao bit his lip. Okay, he had keep as calm and quiet as possible; he didn't want to send the two into panic. He took a deep breath, sending a look towards the doorway leading to the kitchen. It was probably it there...That's what he had been told, at least. "Whatever is in here with us is not Kamon. Not entirely, at least. It's hard to explain this, boys, but I need you to get out of this house and run to Emil's. Tell Lukas and Vladimir that something has happened."

"Wh-What?" Leon stammered, eyes widening, "Not...Kamon? What are you talking about, Teach?" He almost yelled the question, making Yao flinch.

Yao pressed a finger to his lips, "Shhh, I said be quiet." He hissed. But the damage was already done. Footsteps came from behind them, making Yao look at the two seriously, "Please, don't fight me on this. Just believe me. I'll buy you some time to escape. That thing will probably come after you, but I'm sure Lukas and Vladimir will protect you more than I did. If you can, grab the map from my car; it's unlocked. It'll show you where you need to go."

Leon still seemed hesitant, but Emil grabbed his wrist, nodding, "We will, Yao."

"Good." Yao smiled at them, walking down the stairs, the two boys following behind him. As soon as he got to the bottom of the steps, he turned back to them, "Whatever happens, whatever you see in the corner of your eye, _don't turn back_. I can't stress that enough. You're not safe if you hesitate for longer than you need to." The grin didn't slip off his face, "We may see each other again; I can see this isn't the end of the line. Oh, and Emil?"

"Yeah, Yao?" The Icelandic boy murmured, biting his lip.

"Please, protect Leon for me. He'll need it."

A twinge of fear struck Emil in the chest; Yao's words stung in a way he didn't quite get. He'll...need it? Three simple words ignited a wildfire of questions: What was that even supposed to mean? Was Leon in some sort of danger? And, most of all, _Why him?_ Yao could've said anyone else! But, nonetheless, he started to drag Leon towards the door, bursting out into the chill of Winter just as they heard Kamon's voice. "Ah, so you finally decided to show up, Yao! You know, the Dragons have missed you..."

The...Dragons? Emil didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but he committed the name to memory. The best he could, at least, with the flurry of thoughts and emotions rushing through his head and pounding against his skull.

 _Grab the map, go to my house, don't get caught, protect Leon. Grab the map, go to my house, don't get caught, protect Leon._ _Grab the map, go to my house, don't get caught, protect Leon._

Taking a deep breath, Emil squeezed Leon's wrist. "He'll be fine." He murmured, like he was trying not to shatter the air, "Yao is as tough as nails, Leon. And, if he isn't, then we'll just have to do as he wished us to." He looked at his friend, watching him bob his head. Emil forced a smile, going to Yao's car and opening the passenger door. "Alright then, let's find that map!"

 _Grab the map, go to my house, don't get caught, protect Leon. Grab the map, go to my house, don't get caught, protect Leon._ _Grab the map, go to my house, don't get caught, protect Leon._

 _Fulfill Yao's wishes._


	12. C: Free The Prisoner-Release A Nightmare

_**Warning: Small mentions of blood and violence.**_

* * *

 **|A/N| Greetings and salutations, my beautiful readers!**

 **Happy (kinda late) New Year! I hope this chapter is okay and at least slightly worth the wait. I kinda went for a creepy vibe from it, and managed to get a little action in there too! Someone I've been waiting to put in finally arrives, and he'll be lurking around here a bit! Anyways, hope you all enjoy it at least slightly, because I also loved to write it!**

 **See you guys next chapter~**

* * *

 _February 28, 2016_

 _[Location Unknown]_

 ** _I shouldn't be here...Oh God, I shouldn't be here._**

Vash fidgeted, tugging at a ripped-up sleeve, eyes darting wildly around the small room he was in like there was something new to see. Of course, there wasn't. If was...concrete, gray, lifeless. It was all he had even known. He had woken up here, eaten here, slept here. That was all his life had been. There were breaks from the usual, sure; check-ups and training and all that, but those were far apart with few in between. So, the steady pattern of his life went on, and he didn't question it.

Yet, there was a sense of something being...off. Blank points in his memory that weren't supposed to be there. It was more than just a case of forgetfulness, as he had been told it was so often. It made him want to dig around in his brain, recover the missing information, but all he could do was rip out hair and hope that the pain sparked something.

It never did. And that seemed all the more aggravating.

His mind started to swim, a sudden surge of the familiar sensation of energy writhing under his skin, almost like it was begging to escape. He bounced his leg, trying to dispel some of the energy and sort out his thoughts, despite they were already way too jumbled and smudged to create a clear picture. He chewed at his nails, practically stubs by now, trying not to make a sound when he heard clanging keys and sliding metal.

"I'd advise you stop your fidgeting, boy." A cold voice said, breaking through his thoughts. It was his doctor, nameless and mostly faceless beside the tired grey eyes above the white face mask. He sat on the bench beside Vash, dragging a small metal cart towards them, "If I get anything wrong, you won't be in the correct condition for the mission, and we'll both be on thin ice. Wouldn't want that." He picked up a flashlight, grabbing Vash's chin, "Eyes open."

 _ **My eyes are open, can you not see that?!**_

Flinching when the bright light went into one of his eyes, Vash grit his teeth. A hum from his doctor, and the light moved to the other eye. The light was put down, replaced by the little mallet that was used for his reflexes. Vash zoned out, not listening or paying attention to what the doctor was saying. The energy in him was calming down, at ease once more.

Suddenly, a sharp pain hit his arm, shocking him out of his thoughts. A shot, filled with a clear liquid that Vash wasn't familiar with. He didn't have the nerve to ask, just watching as it was injected.

A bandage later, and the doctor was bidding him farewell again, sneaking him a candy from "one of his nurses." He popped it into his mouth as all the lights turned off, leaving him in the dark. Why did they have to do this? It was something about testing, wasn't it? That was their motivation for doing this stuff. But, still, he hated being without his sight; it made him vulnerable.

 _You don't have to be helpless. You can do whatever you want with this darkness. Just tap into it._

Vash clenched his fist, "Why are you still here? You should leave already. I don't even know why you care about me getting out of here."

 _I care because I'm not letting another person waste away here. Because you **don't act**! Do it this once and you'll be free. Then you can gather your memories again and I'll go._

"..." Taking a deep breath, Vash stuck his hands out in front of him. His hands started to tremble, the energy coursing through him again. "Fine. But, please, leave me after this. I don't need the help of a ghost to guide me through my life."

He swore he could almost see someone nodding in the darkness. _Of course._ They mumbled, before Vash felt the energy increase. All he could manage was a scream, before everything went white.

* * *

Red light poured across the white floor, sirens blaring almost loud enough to break eardrums and shatter glass. People ran through the halls, gathering files from offices or snatching up keys for the restricted areas of the building. They didn't have time to rest, especially not with their supervisor watching over them like an angry hawk on the catwalk above them; ready to get rid of the weak link that allowed this hassle to happen or was doing nothing productive.

A lady walked up to him, looking nervous. She tapped on his shoulder, waiting for his attention to be on her to speak, "Um, sir...You won't be very happy with this, but..." She looked around, motioning for him to lean down so she could finish her statement in a whisper. He stared at her incredulously when she pulled away to let him process her words.

"What do you mean ZS-1921 escaped?" He finally asked, deathly quiet.

She shuffled her feet, flipping through her notes and adjusting her glasses, "I mean exactly what I said, sir! We can't find him anywhere. Not even a trace of his energy is locatable. It's like he was never here."

"This isn't good..." He groaned, pressing his fingers to his temples and leaning on the railing. "Do you know how much money his supposed powers could have made us? So many people need a good powered hitman nowadays! Now we'll be behind quota..." Shaking his head, he turned his head back towards the woman, "Thank you for telling me this, Dolores. Go and try to help the others."

"Yes sir." She nodded, turning and going back towards the special containment cells. Though, as she passed one of the unused corridors, a small sound - almost like giggling - caught her attention.

Approaching it, apprehensively, Dolores poked her head into the dark area, "Hello? Is someone there?"

The giggling grew louder, more crazed. After a moment, it mixed with a hissing noise and footsteps. Something stumbled towards her on shaking legs, pant legs torn and dirtied. She stared at the thing as it revealed more and more of itself; it wore the standard outfit for subjects, but ripped all around the arms and, of course, legs. More terrifyingly, a large, black shape loomed over it, smiling down at her with a smile filled with sharp teeth.

Raising a limp hand, the escaped subject matched their monster's lopsided grin. They brought their hand up to point at her, the shadow monster jumping out from behind them and inching close to her, " **Go on. I know you're hungry.** "

Finally coming to her senses, Dolores screamed, turning tail and starting to run. She didn't get very far, before ribbons of dark energy burst up from the ground, wrapping around her ankles and bringing her to the ground. More ribbons made sure she couldn't get up as the creature loomed over her, mouth opened wide. She screamed again, watching as its teeth came closer at a tauntingly slow pace.

" **Apologizes.** " The subject said, running past her, " **But this world is eat or be eaten, is it not?** "

Another scream, this time muffled by the ribbons, and blood spilt across the floor.

* * *

.

* * *

February 28, 2006

Antsla, Estonia

Eduard woke up with a gasp, eyes opening as he jolted in bed. Slowly, he sat up, searching for his glasses on the nightstand. He brushed at his eyes with a fist, surprised to see they were wet with tears. Ugh... He shook his head, putting his glasses on and looking at the clock. Midnight. And, yet, here he was; pumped full of adrenaline from that stupid nightmare.

Well...He didn't have to keep his mind on it. He might as well be productive while he was up. Pushing his blanket off him, Eduard jumped out of bed. He yawned, walking to the kitchen and wasting no time in making coffee for himself. But, as soon as he poured his mug, more footsteps came from the living room. He turned his head, smiling at a nervous looking Feliks standing in the doorway.

"I didn't know I would be having company this morning." He chuckled, grabbing another mug from the cabinet. He didn't get a response, just the sound of a chair squealing as it was pushed out. He didn't know what he was expecting; his houseguest had been acting...off lately. Not his usual self.

Putting down a mug in front of Feliks, Eduard took his own seat. "I'm sorry if I woke you up," He began, blowing at his drink before taking a drink, "I forgot that Toris had inviting you to stay while you were traveling. I'm not used to visitors, so I guess I'm not the best at being quiet." He laughed to himself, watching as the other mug was pushed away.

"Eduard." Feliks' voice instantly made Eduard tense. It sounded almost...dead. Too flat and unemotional to actually belong to him. But, no, it was still coming from his lips. "Now is not the time for small talk. You and I both know this, even if - in your case - it's only subconsciously. I want you to listen to me, right now, and accept my words with an open mind."

"F-Feliks...You're kind of scaring me..."

Sighing, Feliks went on, "I don't expect you to understand this, but I want you to try, okay?" As soon as Eduard nodded, he went on, "I'm going to be blunt about this: We're going to be in danger, Ed. All of us. You, me, Toris, Raivis, Elizaveta; even people we haven't even met yet. It's all connected, you see? Every single one of us has a common thread going through our lives. And it's all going to crash together on that string one day, when it's most important!" Feliks' serious façade was falling away, his eyes shining with...something. He slowly grabbed Eduard's hands, staring him in the eyes, "Everything's bound together. People like you, and to a smaller extent, like me; we're living in an entire world depending on butterfly effects."

"No, Feliks." Eduard shook his head, pulling his hands out of his friends hands, "Do you even know what you're saying? I think you're taking that one guy's - what was his name, Vargas? - work too seriously. He's a complete loon. Maybe you should just sleep this crazy notion off? Toris said you haven't been sleeping well at all la-!"

Feliks stood suddenly, chair tipping back and clattering to the ground as he smacked his hands down on the table. "Don't speak to me like I'm a child, Ed!" He shouted, "I know what I'm saying. I've been studying this, even before Doctor Vargas explained his own studies. And it's finally come together, I'm on the very verge of a breakthrough with this! I know why those people with that 'Unnatural' gene are so spread out in this world." He started to pace, a habit he developed when thinking on something too hard.

Eduard rolled his eyes, but couldn't say anything before Feliks spoke again, "If they were all in one place, it would be dangerous. They all need to develop their skills properly. If they all shared territory, then there would be the ones that would be weaker, and they'd probably either turn to a darker lifestyle or be killed off by the ones who did the first option. Survival of the fittest. But, you can't have that with 'Unnaturals,' they all need to take their own path, not be forced to try and get more power of be killed off by others. Of course, they gravitate towards those like them, because that's just natural instinct!"

"Feliks... You make it sound like these 'Unnaturals' you're talking about are animals. Didn't Vargas say the gene is only in humans?"

"Humans are animals, Ed. Don't your remember what's in this world? Murder, stealing, cheating; it's all in out nature. And, like any other species, there will always be a higher class. That's where they fit in snugly, in that upper class. Because they still have those human urges, but they have power to supply relief to the urges, if they so wished. It's a terrifying thing to think about, hm? The fact that even people above the normal ones of our species are savages as well. But I'm sure you don't have any need to be afraid..."

Flashing a smile, Feliks finally picked up his cup, taking a drink of it and going back to the living room after it. Like they had just had a normal talk.

Eduard stared into his coffee, holding onto it tightly. He swore that he saw flashes of his earlier nightmare in the cup; somehow crawling out of his head to give him the images to choke on. Now that he thought about it, the screams had been a little to real, the laughter a little too distinct, the blood almost like he could touch it and have his fingers coated with it. A shiver ran through him.

Maybe...Feliks was so crazy...


	13. CC: Fabric Heart

**[A/N] Greetings and salutations, my beautiful readers!**

 **Wow, it's been a while since an update, huh? Sorry about that! I've been working on other project's and haven't been in the best of places mentally, so it's been really hard to write. I hope you can forgive me! And that this chapter suffices. It's...darker, than all the others. This is how the fun begins. Don't worry, this story won't be super gorey or gross, just a bit...darker, in the tone.**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 ** _Warning: Multiple deaths - drowning, accidental, shooting. Slightly Graphic. Blood. Darker themes. Mentioned gang activity. Hinted homophobia._**

* * *

 _He's fifteen when he first meets her._

He doesn't know who she is yet, but he likes her. Blonde hair, teal eyes, an air of light and warmth and _nature_ about her. She gives him a smile and a polite curtsey, and turns her back to go walk into the crowd. There's a mysterious regality in the way she carries herself, one that no simple farm girl should have. His own mother, a duchess, can't compare. And his interest soon turns into some sort of infatuation. His brothers always teased him about how easy it was to sway his heart.

Before he can reach out to her, run after her and ask her name, she's swallowed by the crowd. They never meet; the farm girl is gone forever. He wonders what her voice sounds like, where she came from, what he could call her. An unattainable beauty, he guesses, one that was never meant to be trapped in a cage wrapped in luxury.

And he straightens his back. Goes to his brothers. Doesn't tell them about that farm girl who unknowingly holds his heart, which is made of soft rose gold and cotton and delicate silks.

He never does.

 _He's fifteen when he dies for the first time._

He remembers feeling water rush into his mouth. His horse stomps it's hooves down on his arms and the burning pain keeps his mouth wide open in a silent scream. There's blood. It's all he can see. And he knows he'll be dead by the time he's found. There's so much pain. It's blinding. Has he ever been able to see? Everything is red and green and brown and he starts to wonder if he's finally seeing the world because it's right above him. He can barely make it out but he sees the sky. There's birds and trees and _hooves._

God, they hurt so much.

His lungs feel ready to burst. They burn like they've been set on fire. Black dances on the edges of his vision and dear Lord have mercy on his soul. Was this the punishment he was warned about, for kissing the stable boy? No, surely it couldn't be... No one could be so cruel as to do this to him, just out of innocent love.

Just as everything disappears and his mind goes blank, he can swear arms grab him and drag him up. And he swears someone is calling to him. "Regulus! Wake up! Please!"

* * *

 _He wakes up somewhere unfamiliar._

No. He doesn't wake up. _She_ wakes up.

Things come rushing back to her as she sits on the floor of some little house and doodles on a napkin with a crayon. She had died. She - a he, at the time. The thought of being a boy doesn't gross her out, unlike some girls her age - had taken her horse out for a ride. It had gotten spooked by a hunter's gunshot while she was drinking from a freshwater spring. It knocked her in and pinned her down...

She ignores the tears dripping down her face. Her chubby, uncoordinated fingers grab a blue crayon and flip the napkin over. She doesn't even think as she draws; who she had been, the spring she had died in, a beautiful smile framed by gold hair. It all comes from the crayon and her mind and why did she have to die? Why did she have to remember?

Her parents never bring up the suddenly haunted look they find in their 5 year old's eyes when they check on her that afternoon. Or her sudden fear of horses and water.

 _She grows up._

She gets the privilege of being older than she had been. Her seventeenth birthday rolls around and all of her friends drag her to a party the night before. She doesn't know who it's for, but it's in the middle of the night that someone she definitely knows walks in. But she looks different.

Once long hair now just above her shoulders, curlier and more dirty blonde, eyes more on the green side, her skin is paler and her build isn't as strong. Yet she's still gorgeous, recognizable. This time, she doesn't wait. She pulls the mystery girl aside and into a small corner, one no one would overhear them in. Big eyes look at her, almost scared, and she breathes for what feels like the first time. "I like your skirt." She starts clumsily, mortified when her lips stupidly add "Poodles are nice." But it make Her laugh.

She actually gets a name this time. Arwen. She doubts that's wait the farm girl's name was, but she takes it in stride. It's so, so lovely.

Arwen and her grow to be close quickly. Maybe a little closer than she ever expected. She doesn't even know how it happens, but she finds herself and Arwen alone in the house, in her room, lips locked in a kiss and all over each other. They never go farther than making out, but it's exhilarating all the same, and she finds herself completely lost in every tiny kiss and every little touch her friend - her _girlfriend,_ gives her.

 _She dies in her beloved's arms._

It all happened too quickly.

Her parents had finally given her her dad's old motorcycle. She had already been taught how to handle it. She was cautious. They trusted her enough to let her go out and take it for a spin. Of course, her first stop is Arwen's place. They could go grab a malt and maybe hide in that big hedge maze that the local park had just gotten installed to kiss in one of the dead ends so no one finds them.

The girl squeals in excitement, and clings to her waist as they zoom to the shop. Arwen had just hopped off when she realized she didn't bring her wallet. She had been too excited, she had left it at home. When she tells her girlfriend this, Arwen rolls her eyes and she instantly starts the bike back up to go get it. Her place wasn't too far anyway, it wouldn't take lo-

A searing pain tore through her whole body. She felt herself get violently thrown from her bike, heard Arwen's screams, the screech of tires and the close smell of burning rubber.

She can't breathe. She's drowning. _His horse is stomping on his arms. He can't swim up. He can't fill his lungs with air. He has no doubt that it would taste so sweet, if he could just..._ Her own screams are gargled, she spits up something metallic and warm. It dribbles down her chin, gathers in her mouth, and more comes down her throat or comes up faster than she can get rid of it. _Is this the true world? All he can see is the sky. Birds and trees. He feels like he's always been blind despite having sight._ Why does everything seem so unfocused? One eye...it wasn't blinking...

Someone scoops her up. She can practically feel all her bones move around inside her like shattered glass. A soft, sweet voice is shouting at her. Arwen. "...y! Ray! Oh God, oh my God! Please, say something; Rachel? Don't worry, sweetie, you'll be okay! We're gonna get a malt and...and we'll fight over the flavor and... you'll be fine. Just stay awake for me..."

She sounded so sad...

Normally, she couldn't refuse her Arwen anything. She's was a total sap when it came to her beloved girlfriend. But now, drowning from the inside, in her own blood... She can barely lift her better arm up to caress Arwen's cheek, trying to say "I'm sorry," before her arm falls and she succumbs to the pain.

* * *

 _Her third life is nothing special._

When she wakes up again, she's a girl once more. A pathetic thing who looks ready to keel over; sunken eyes, ashen skin, scraggly and greasy black-brown hair, and an almost skeletal appearance. It's entirely possible for a baby to push her over. She knows that she's suffering, but does nothing about it. What's there to do? Her two past lives have haunted her from the moment she was born.

Regulus. Rachel. What's her name again? She barely remembers. Ra... Ri... Ry... She thinks it's River, but... Oh, whatever. No one uses it anyways.

It's during this time she learns something important. Well, two things important. 1: If you look pitiful enough, even adults will bend to your will. 2: Sometimes being a not-so-good person gets you all you want. There's no good adults to steer her in the right direction. No one wants to take her in, even with how she looks, and she accepts it. Who needs people anyway?

 _Surprisingly, she ages up into adulthood in this life._

She still doesn't remember her name. Regulus and Rachel are all she'll ever be. They're _her_. Good versions of her. Ones who actually did things with their lives, that had good futures in front of them. And here she is. In the back alleys, being hired by gangs, never getting a formal education and already twenty two. And it makes her feel like shit.

This name she's carved out for herself, as the ever so mysterious No Name. She hates it. She hates the filthy money she helps people get, that she gets herself. She hates the blood on her hands. She hates this stupid, useless life. But she's too much of a coward to do anything. She gets taken out by a boss of another gang she helped rob and accepts the searing of pain in her skull with a lifeless smile.

She never even got to meet her beautiful princess again. But, she guesses that she was never meant to. Not like this.

* * *

 _He thinks he can finally be happy._

Raivis wakes up as a baby. And he knows his name is Raivis, because two older boys are addressing him with the name as the hover over him. It feels much better than No Name.

"What are we gonna do with Raivis?" The blonde boy hisses to the other, over his crib, "What if he's... You know. Like us? He's not safe here, Tor..."

'Tor' pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't know, Eduard. We're barely teenagers. How are we going to support ourselves _and_ a baby? Running away in itself would be difficult enough... What if he starts to cry? Or gets hungry? Or moves too much? It's way too risky!"

"And you want to leave out little cousin for mom and dad to get to?" Eduard snaps, "What about the Water Incident, Toris? Or when they almost put me in a coma? They're batshit insane! And Tino offered to keep us in his apartment already; he's taken care of babies. He can help us so much!"

Toris' eyes harden, and his fist clenches. He sighs. When he looks down at Raivis, he's surprised to see the little baby staring him in the eyes. Finally, he gives it up. "Alright."

 _His family is all he has._

He grows up in Tino's apartment. In his care. Tino is pretty much his parent, while Toris and Eduard are his big brothers. He loves them all dearly. He doesn't want this life too end. Not too soon. And he hopes that his heart can keep beating until it comes to a natural stop.

* * *

 _Life hates him._

He feels dead, yet he's breathing, and his heartbeat mocks him from inside his chest. He moves the food around on his plate, taking a bite of the cardboard-like stuff when he feels eyes bore into the back of his head. Why was he here? Why wasn't he with Toris, and Eduard? They had legal guardianship of him! But, no, he was trapped in an old and rotting orphanage with an awful caretaker and three other children.

He could recognize one easily. The farm girl. Arwen. The one he never met. Erika. But, instead of a thrill, he felt pure hatred. He didn't know why. Maybe because life had decided to force them together after its failure to do so last time? If that was the case, he hated life. He hated himself. He hated Erika. Hated this stupid orphanage and that awful lady and dear God he wanted to go home...

But life couldn't be fair, huh? Not to Regulus. Not to Rachel. Not to No Name. Not to Raivis. And it certainly wouldn't be to any incarnation that was sure to follow him.

And, with that thought, his torn-up, fabric heart gave away to pure hatred.


End file.
